


Battleblock Theater

by Skyebyrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Death, Frottage, Gangs, Gore, Guns, M/M, NSFW, Panic Attacks, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyebyrd/pseuds/Skyebyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael's understanding of Plan G was simple: get in, get the package, and get out. At least, that's what Monty told him. But in a city full of dirty cops and drug rings, no one is told the full story; orders are orders, and you follow them like good little expendable soldiers. Except now Geoff's missing, Red's leader is dead, Blue's in chaos, and Michael just really wishes he was an electrician again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battleblock Theater

**Author's Note:**

> also based off of this art by tumblr user raypertoire, sorry I couldn't fit it in like I thought I could: http://raypertoire.tumblr.com/post/50819779656/so-i-got-a-new-computer-yay-now-i-can-draw-ouo
> 
> also 8tracks user flynt made a super radical playlist and I love it so much: http://8tracks.com/flynt/you-re-gonna-go-far-kid
> 
> and if you're one of those people who don't read tags: warnings for gun use, violence, frottage, panic/anxiety attacks, death (no major characters), blood, cursing, possible casual ableism, slurs, and I believe that's it. if there's anything else I should add, just tell me and I will, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> ....
> 
> Okay, this note is coming from a-year-since-this-was-written me. I can't believe this shit hole was written by me. It's the worst thing I've ever written in my entire life??????? Like, I would put one of my fics from 3 years ago and on ff.net as being good before I put this pile of crap. I'm not going to delete this as it was part of a big bang, and I want it to serve as a reminder of my first big bang, but like...........it's so bad jesus christ.........I'm sorry. I'm just so fucking sorry.

**Part I**

The night air of Austin, Texas is hot, humid, and buzzing with energy. Tension is thick in downtown, slowly loosening down alleys and dissipating into suburbs. Where Michael Jones is currently located, far from downtown, however, it is sticky and stifling, and completely silent. He can hear a few dogs barking in the distance, and trash scuttling along in the hot, barely moving air. The windows are down in hopes of getting a bit of a breeze to cool his sweating body, but it’s not as though his AC would work even if his vehicle was on. His car is currently off, and in the silence, his heart and lungs are practically deafening in the dead of the night.

Pump. Pump. Breathe. Breathe. Pump. Pump. Breathe.

Michael holds the gun close to his chest, listening, being patient, waiting, waiting, _God where the fuck are they, those assholes are so fucking late shit shit shit-_

Michael takes another deep breath, and exhales. His grip on his gun is tight, the semi-automatic slightly tacky with sweat and stress and death. Light from old streetlamps glints off the black finish, and it reflects into Michael’s eyes, making his eyebrows scrunch and his eyes move away from his gun all the way to a building four blocks down. A building Geoff and Gavin are in right now. A building where they could (potentially) have been stabbed to death, or lined up against a wall and shot, or pushed off the roof, or-

Michael has never been alone on a job before, and he’s, well, he’s what anybody would be, alone and in a shitty car, with the thought that any second they could be brutally murdered or arrested: scared out of his wits. For both himself and his friends (well, more acquaintances, but still).

But Geoff and Gavin had been given instructions to come to this building at a specific time (which was two hours and sixteen minutes ago) to pick up a package. No more information was given, but when a person is told to do a job, that person does it. Especially if it was Monty that gave the orders. Nobody fucks with Monty Oum. It’s just not a thing people do.

He takes another breath, relaxing his grip on his gun because being impatient _and_ trigger-happy solves positively nothing for nobody, but what more can he do? Wait and hope for the best? Geoff and Gavin are nowhere in sight, and Plan G is going to fail horrifically if they aren’t out in, what, the next three minutes? Michael considers calling Kerry to tell him to tell Miles to tell Monty they’ll be late, because Michael’s timed everything exactly (he has to, he’s never done this before, and if he doesn’t time everything to a fucking tee,  those bastards won’t be out within forty-two seconds, and Michael will kick both their asses) but decides against it. If Kerry hears they’ll be late, he’ll get pissed, and when Kerry gets pissed, Miles gets irritated, and if Miles is irritated about Plan G then everything will go downhill and just.

Fuck.

Gunshots. Those were definitely gunshots. Michael’s eyes widen, and he looks towards the building, and sees a few of the rooms have now turned on lights, and he can see people moving around in the building, running around, and just. Shit.

Michael jumps from his position in the car, accidentally hitting the horn andcursing loudly when he does so. _Way to make yourself stay incognito, dumbass_ . He goes to get out of the old, beat-up, light-ish red car (it’s not pink, dumbasses), the leather of his seat sticking to his shoulders, the skin tingling slightly there. He moves towards the building, gun in a tight grip once again.

He hugs the storefronts (simple little Mom and Pop stores, they certainly don’t deserve an area as bad as this) but moves quickly, knowing that if he doesn’t, Gavin will most likely do something stupid and irrational and ruin the entire fucking plan but then, oh, shit, there’s Gavin, running towards Michael at full tilt and screaming obscenities at the men in the building who are firing down on the two of them.

“Go to the bloody car, Michael, drive!”

Suffice to say, this is not a good day on the job for Michael Jones.

Gavin catches up to Michael while the latter stands there, shell-shocked, but Michael is jarred back to reality when he sees one of the enemies lock target onto his forehead, and so he turns around and runs back to the car. Michael jumps back in the driver’s seat, tossing his gun to the passenger’s seat and praying Gavin will notice before sitting his fat ass into it…after starting the car and thinking for two seconds, Michael shoves it to the floor instead, where it will be less likely to shoot off Gavin’s unmentionables.

Gavin slides into the seat easily, pumping his (much larger than Michael’s) gun, emptying the cartridge and throwing it into the backseat and quickly reloading the gun.

 “Drive, now, fast.” Is all Gavin says before he hits the button to roll the window down, and spraying the side of the building he just escaped with bullets as they pass it.

“You gonna tell me where the fuck Geoff is?” Michael floors the pedal as soon as he hears return fire, and Gavin just yells at him to go faster. “Don’t give me that shit, Gavin, where the fuck is Geoff? And where the fuck is the package, and why the fuck are we being fired at?”

“It’s a bloody turf war, Michael, I’m sure you’ve heard of it.” Gavin bites out sarcastically as Michael crashes over railroad tracks and pulls down a side street. “Try not to kill us while you’re at this driving thing, will ya?” The passenger puts his gun on safety and tosses it carelessly in the backseat before picking Michael’s gun up and doing the same. Gavin’s actions mean they should be safe, and Gavin’s almost always right, but Michael still wishes Gavin kept one of their guns just in case. Being in a gang and being frightened all the time certainly sucks, but so far Michael hasn’t died, so he guesses it pays somewhat to be a bit paranoid. Even if he’s only been doing this for two months.

Michael wonders for a second why they aren’t being followed, but shakes his head. He needs to focus.

“But we’re on their side of the border, why did they attack us? I was promised there would be no fucking trouble, not that I would have to help protect anyone!” Michael notices he never turned the headlights on, and does so now, cursing himself for being so stupid. He only vaguely recognizes his surroundings (it certainly isn’t Blue territory, that’s for sure), and keeps driving for another five minutes before repeating his question, albeit in a smaller and calmer voice, now that they are in relative safety and there’s no reason to assume sudden death is laying around the corner.

Gavin remains silent.

Michael knows what silence is.

“You guys shot first?” Michael grits his teeth and slams on the brakes, and Gavin (he didn’t put a seatbelt on when they reached the Relatively Safe Area, and Michael curses the other man’s stupidity for the umpteenth time that day) slides forward and hits the dashboard with a thunk.

“Ow, Michael, careful.” Gavin whines, but Michael just turns to him, seething.

“Explain. Now.”

“What if I don’t feel like it?” Gavin pouts at him, and Michael just continues staring and puts the car in park.

“Do you seriously think I actually give a shit about what you ‘feel like doing,’ Gavin?” Michael’s heart is going way too fast for this, he thinks he’s going to die, right here and now. His palms are slippery with sweat and his forehead is damp, and if all this stress is Gavin’s fault he’s going to be so pissed.

Gavin pulls a few interesting facial expressions, clearly thinking it over. He moans and gripes and tosses his hands about in his inner debate; to tell or not to tell, that is the question!

He reaches a decision.

“Fine.” Gavin’s face is petulant, meaning he doesn’t want to explain but feels it would be easiest on everyone to not be stubborn to maybe the only person who can help him right now. “Just keep driving, or we’ll get shot, and then it’ll be on your head.”

Michael just nods, and puts his car back in drive as Gavin begins his tale.

“It was a dark and dreary night, the bats fluttering in the air.”

“Gavin, don’t fuck around, and tell the damn story.”

“Fine, fine, you grumpy butt…”

…

“So what do you suppose is in the package, Geoff?”

“Gavin, if you ask me that one more fucking time, I will have no qualms about shooting you where you stand.”

So far for Gavin Free, Plan G is turning out beautifully. Absolutely tippy-toppers, in fact, if Geoff will just stop being a stupid little worry-wart.

“Oh, come off it, Geoffrey. Doesn’t anything make you curious anymore?” Gavin chuckles a bit before saying, “Or have you just gotten too old to care?”

“Bullets. In your brain. Won’t even blink.” Geoff continues walking, doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge Gavin with his remark, but Gavin just shrugs it off. As the older man continues to ignore his existence, Gavin turns to wave to Michael, their newest recruit, who is seated a few blocks back in a light-ish red car.

“This is Michael’s first job flyin’ solo, yeah? Like, where he won’t have anyone guarding him to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid?” His hand sinks down to his side again, his other hand holding his gun loosely. Michael reminded him to be much more careful with his gun, but, Gavin said, where’s the adventure in that?

“Yes, now will you shut up and be serious?”

“Well, what if he gets nervous and decides to bail?”

“I don’t know, Gavin, what if your brain decides it’s finally done with being stupid and blows itself up?”

“What?”

“Just shut the fuck up.”

Gavin does.

The apartment building is scheduled to be demolished, has been for almost ten years, but the city can never find the funds for it, and hasn’t done it yet. Gavin knows better, of course, Burnie would never allow a building this important to the drug rings to go, but that doesn’t mean he goes around telling everyone. Very hush-hush, you know.

Entering the building isn’t difficult; a simple show of what weapons are on Geoff and Gavin’s person, an explanation of what’s exactly going to happen once they reach the room upstairs, and they’re escorted up the creaking staircase. But the stairs are old and rotting in the humid air of Austin, and when Gavin goes to put his foot on the bottom step, it falls through and he lets out a loud yelp.

Geoff laughs at him from behind.

“Nice job, you stupid fuck.”

“Oh, shut your gob, Geoff.”

They continue up the stairs, all four flights of them, and reach a room with two guards outside the door.

“Mr. Pattillo doesn’t like to be double-crossed, boys, remember that.” Are the parting words from their escort, and Geoff and Gavin glance at each other. Geoff’s right hand fidgets with the straps of his bag.

They both take a deep breath, and nod at each other.

“Hello, boys, here to see Mr. Pattillo about that package.” Gavin smiles brightly at the two huge, hulking men before them, and the one on the left grunts something to the one on the right, and he is the one who opens the door for them.

They both enter, Geoff trailing behind Gavin, looking around and taking in any and all exits. Three windows, one leading to a fire escape, two doors. There are pans in the small kitchen, which is also to be noted. Geoff remembers his daughter’s current favorite movie, Tangled, and damn, can frying pans do some damage. He marks the kitchen with a big red circle with highlighters marking it as “hey look useful things!” before following his friend into the living room.

“Mr. Pattillo, we’re here to pick up the package for our boss. We have the money, and don’t want any trouble, alright?” Gavin’s voice is tight, forceful, but he knows his place. He won’t force Mr. Pattillo’s hand, but nor will he be bossed around. Geoff is always amazed at how easily the kid can just flip his demeanor like that, at the touch of a switch. Maybe that’s how the kid got into this life, Geoff ponders. If he knew Joel back in Hollywood, it would explain why Joel’s so fond of him now.

But, no. Geoff knows this kid, and knows that wouldn’t have happened. Gavin’s too smart to follow Joel around anywhere.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Set the bag down here, let me count it.”

Geoff rounds the couch to see Mr. Pattillo for the first time. He’s much older than Geoff, with salt-and-pepper hair and a clean face. He looks like the kind of man who used to laugh a lot, but hasn’t in many moons. Geoff drops the bag in front of Mr. Pattillo without a word, and the man unzips it, taking out a stack of money and inspecting it. Geoff knows it’s all real money, the exact amount that is due to Mr. Pattillo, but he and Gavin just stand there as the boss sits on his couch and counts his money.

After two hours and ten minutes of counting out the four thousand and seventy dollars that was in Geoff’s duffel bag, Mr. Pattillo sits back with a satisfied sigh.

“It appears as though Monty hasn’t failed me, yet again. Wish he was on my side, but hey, that’s business, right boys?” Mr. Pattillo tries a smile on Geoff and Gavin, but they don’t answer. Gavin gets right back to business, knowing that they’re running short on time, and Michael is probably getting antsy by now.

“The package, Mr. Pattillo?”

The man in question nods in affirmation, and goes to a separate room. Geoff looks around the newly opened door, and sees no one in the room besides Mr. Pattillo, and nods quickly to Gavin, who now looks like he might throw up.

“Don’t get sick now, dumbass, we’re almost done here.” Geoff lowers his voice, but Mr. Pattillo hears anyway, having just come back into the room without Geoff noticing. Mr. Pattillo holds a large cardboard box in his hands, and it looks so utterly normal Geoff is surprised. Leave it to Monty to make it look like a regular package.

“Are you feeling sick? I could get you a glass of water, if you want.”

 _Well, isn’t that just fucking nice,_ Gavin thinks dryly. He smiles tightly, and answers with “No, it’s just my allergies. Allergic to mold, you know how it is.”

Mr. Pattillo smiles back, and sets the box on the coffee table with a nod, and he sits back on the couch and begins putting the stacks of money back into the duffel bag. After a few moments of silence, Mr. Pattillo looks up to see Geoff and Gavin still standing there, and he raises his eyebrow in question.

“Is there something wrong with the package, boys?” Mr. Pattillo stands up, now defensive.

Geoff answers first.

“Well, you see, Mr. Pattillo, we had other orders for here.”

Both of Mr. Pattillo’s eyebrows are raised now.

“Oh?”

A gun is cocked. Mr. Pattillo looks to the sound, and sees the barrel of a gun pointed at his face. He feels a drop of sweat slip down his cheek, and wishes he could see his son again.

“Yeah. Sorry, mate.”

But Gavin doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic and doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. The shot is enough to pull in the guards, and then everything just goes to absolute shit.

Gavin runs off at Geoff’s order, and doesn’t look back at all.

…

“And then I got here in the car, Michael, and told you to drive, and then I shot at the building as we drove by it, and-”

“Gavin?”

“Yeah, Michael?”

“I was there.”

“Oh, right.”

Michael sighs deeply, trying to calm himself once more.

“So, let me get this straight. An order from the big kahuna himself, given to you and Geoff, was to start a turf war with Red?”

Gavin’s voice is hesitant to answer, so he nods weakly in place of words. Another sigh from Michael resounds through the cabin.

“Alright. Let’s just. Ugh. Are you hurt at all?” Michael looks at his surroundings and notices they’re in a much more safe area of Austin now. Still not completely safe, but they will be in just a few minutes, if they aren’t being followed.

Gavin pats his body down, not trusting his brain to tell him whether or not he is hurt; the adrenaline is still making his heart pound so loudly he can hear it behind his ears, so being able to detect a gunshot is close to zero in this situation. His hands come across nicked skin behind his knee, and his fingers come away stained with blood.

“Uh, yeah, got nicked a bit in the knee. Sorry, pal, care to drive me to Griffon’s so she can patch me up?” Gavin’s voice is a bit apologetic, and at Griffon’s name both boys wince. They’ll have to break the news about Geoff. They know they will.

“She’s gonna be furious, y’know. With both of us.” Michael sounds somber; he hates to be the bringer of bad news.

“Well, it ain’t like you had a choice in the matter, though, yeah? We were gonna die if we just sat there.”

A moment of silence, but then Michael speaks up again.

“And if we’d have fought them off for a few minutes more, Geoff might be with us in the car right now instead of in Red territory. I mean, it isn’t like he’s at Base or anything, but they’re probably either taking him there right now or mutilating the shit out of him.” His grip is tight on the steering wheel as they pull onto the highway, going towards the suburbs. “I mean, how the fuck do we explain it to Griffon, let alone their fucking daughter, that Geoff could be _dead_ right now and we might never get his body back?”

Gavin looks up at him, alarmed.

“Whoa, whoa, Michael, who said anything about anyone dying? Geoff’s a fighter, I know he at least got out of there by now, there’s no way he’s-” Gavin’s voice gets caught on the word, and Michael just extends his hand to rub Gavin’s shoulder.

“I know, I know. But we have to think about every possibility here, Gavin.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Not another word is said until they reach the Ramsey household.

 

**Part II**

“You guys did _what_?”

Griffon’s screech causes both boys ears to sting, and Gavin winces audibly from the kitchen table. He is laying on his stomach, Griffon standing above him, gauze in hand as she wraps up Gavin’s injured knee. Her hand is shaking, hard and fast, and she pauses in her ministrations to glare at Michael.

“You just left him there?” Her voice is much more quiet, and the weight of the situation lands heavily on the boys’ shoulders.

Michael shrugs. “We were being shot at, Griffon.” When Griffon takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, Michael glares at Gavin in an “I told you so” kind of way, and Gavin shrugs back apologetically.

Griffon’s eyes snap open again, letting her breath out quickly. She rolls her shoulders back, attempting to loose the tension from her shoulders.

“Michael, get me a drink. I don’t care what it is, just make sure it’s strong. Gavin, stay still so I don’t hit you.” As they both relax, she purses her lips again. “And you’re both going to explain to Millie just why the fuck her father isn’t here to tuck her into bed, is that clear?”

They both nod sharply.

“Good.”

As Griffon resumes her work, Gavin makes sure to not tense his leg up; it only causes the pain to worsen, and the bleeding to increase. She wraps the gauze a few more times around, and tapes it off without a word, Michael returning with a glass of something-or-other that Griffon chugs down quickly. When she sets down her glass, she announces that she is going to get Millie, and leaves the room.

“So I’m guessing Millie is Geoff’s daughter?” Michael’s voice is soft as the pause lengthens, and Gavin nods, sitting up and hopping off of the table. He maneuvers around, bending at the knees and walking around and jumping a few times, to test out the damage. He shrugs as he deems his injury Fine Enough To Walk On, and sits down in a chair.

“Yeah. She’s six, turning seven in a few weeks.”

Michael nods.

“Hey, Gavin, how’re we supposed to explain to her what happened? Does she even know what Geoff does all day?”

Gavin shakes his head.

“Gavin! Hey! I thought you and daddy went out to see a movie?” A young child’s voice sounds from the entryway, and they both turn to see a small girl walking toward them with a smile on her face. Gavin smiles right back at her and lifts her up into his lap.

“We did, but I got a bit hurt today so I came here and your mummy wrapped me up all better!” Gavin shows her the wrapped knee, and she frowns ever so slightly before pressing a kiss to her fingers and placing her fingers to his knee. She smiles up at him, eyes bright, and asks him if he’s all better now. He nods, smile dimming slightly.

“Where’s daddy?”

“Millie, I’m afraid we had a bit of trouble at work today.” Gavin’s smile is completely gone now, and Millie turns her head in question. “Do you know what Daddy does for work?”

She shakes her head no.

“Well, he does a dangerous job. Me and your daddy and Michael had work to do, and your daddy got into trouble and me and Michael had to leave him there. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

She shakes her head again, before asking a question.

“Is Daddy safe, Gav?”

Michael sighs, and Gavin shoots him a dirty look.

“We don’t know, sweetie. We certainly hope so.”

Millie nods, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“So Daddy won’t be coming home tonight?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“We don’t know.”

Millie loses the rest of her calm, and the tears spill over, her breath stuttering and gasping and she chokes out her next question.

“Ever?”

Gavin is silent.

Millie sobs out into Gavin’s shoulder and Gavin holds her close to him. Michael just feels awkward, like he’s intruding on a family moment, and the feeling only increases when Griffon walks back into the kitchen to pick Millie up and take her to bed; at this, Millie only cries harder, demanding to stay with Gavin, her arms clutching tight.

Griffon, her calm exterior shattered as well, asks Gavin if he would be willing to sleep with Millie tonight, and he agrees quickly. Michael is offered the couch (“I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you any better, but-” “No, Griff, it’s fine, I’ll be fine.”) and everyone goes to bed with thick throats and heavy hearts.

…

From what Michael remembers, Gavin lives here, with the Ramsey family.

Gavin has never told anyone why he moved to Austin, or how he got into this life, and Michael doesn’t think he ever will. But, despite the secrecy of his past, Gavin has grown close with the Ramsey family, and acts like an older brother to Millie, helping her into bed and giving her money from the Tooth Fairy.

But even with all that knowledge, Michael doubts he’ll ever be able to wrap his head around Gavin Free being fed pancakes by a six year old girl while simultaneously having his face painted into a panda.

“G’mornin, Michael!” Gavin calls, mouth full of food. Millie swats his arm and tells him to stay still so she can paint him properly, gosh, Gav.

“Yeah, Gav, don’t wanna ruin your lovely makeup, do we?” Michael snickers as he walks into the kitchen, and Griffon hands him a plate, and he puts two pancakes on it and applies butter and syrup quickly. Gavin pouts at him and Griffon smiles quietly.

Due to the evening prior, the air is still tense with Geoff’s absence. Gavin and Michael both know they’ll have to go into the Warehouse today and explain what happened last night, but neither is quite willing to leave. The unknown sits in their minds

What if Geoff shows up?

Michael bites off the last of his pancake and puts his dishes in the sink, running water and soap over them and setting it down on the pile, and then does the same with Gavin’s and Millie’s; they both hum at him appreciatively, and he nods back.

Millie finishes her masterpiece and yells out a “tada!” as she throws her arms up in the air, paint flicking off the brush and landing on Michael’s cheek and shoulder. Gavin turns to show his new paint to Michael and they both laugh at each other.

“Michael, you have a little something on your face, y’know?” Gavin laughs as he reaches a hand out over the counter and rubs his sleeve against Michael’s cheek, successfully smearing the paint across his face. Michael looks un-amused and close to crying from laughter at the same time, and so he cracks a small smile.

“Yeah, I know, thanks dumbass.”

“You’re welcome!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Gavin just smiles back at him.

Griffon finally pipes up when the boys had been looking at each other a bit too long.

“You boys’ll need to head over to the Warehouse, and soon. They’ll be impatient, and you know what happens when they get impatient.”

They nod and Gavin goes to the bathroom to wash his face off.

…

The Warehouse is in downtown Austin, and so it takes a while to get there. Traffic is thick this time of day, tourists trying to get to shopping centers and museums and who knows what else, and Michael wonders why the base of a drug ring isn’t located in a more discreet area, but hey. Miles isn’t exactly known for his secrecy.

No, Miles prefers that everyone know his name and face before slowly ripping them apart. Michael shudders at the memory.

“So what’re we gonna tell ‘em?” Gavin cuts through the noises of honking cars and squealing tires and heavy traffic, and Michael turns to face him (he doesn’t need to face the road, they haven’t moved for five minutes).

“The truth?” Michael sounds incredulous. “You know Monty hates being lied to.”

“Yeah, but are we even gonna speak with Monty? Or do we have to go to Kerry first?”

Huh. That _is_ a good point.

“Probably Kerry.”

“Exactly, and Monty said I’m not allowed to tell anybody anything about last night except for you and, well, Monty. Because the orders didn’t come from Monty, apparently, they were a request from…well, you know, he didn’t tell us, now that I think about it. I didn’t speak with the guy, obviously, and Geoff didn’t neither, but Monty told us what to do. So I can’t exactly tell Kerry what happened, and he won’t let us see Monty without a proper reason, so what’re we gonna tell him?”

There’s something Michael has noticed about Gavin, and that’s how Gavin gradually speeds up his rate of speaking as he goes on, making it progressively harder to understand him. Michael takes a few seconds to decode Gavin’s speech, and then a few moments more to actually answer him.

Michael tilts his head in thought.

“We’re at war with Red now, aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah…” Gavin sounds hesitant and curious.

“So why don’t we just tell Kerry that?” Gavin’s eyes widen at how nonchalant Michael sounds about it. “I mean, it’s emergency enough to let us talk to Monty without us having to give every detail.”

Gavin thinks it over, gears turning. He purses his lips, twiddles his thumbs, and Michael is already used to Gavin’s thought process-related antics so he pays the Brit no mind. After a few minutes of odd noises and waving hands Gavin gives in, and Michael vaguely wonders if that’s how every time he propositions something to the other man will end up. Michael certainly hopes so; it would make shit a lot easier. Traffic has let up by the time Gavin gives in and Michael is increasing his speed to the legal limit without going a dot over (if they got pulled over for something as stupid as speeding, they’d be fucked; too many guns, too much cash, and it all points to them being arrested and Blue being annihilated).

“Alright, Michael, fine, but if Kerry asks questions you’re the one that’s gonna answer ‘em.” Gavin replies, and Michael nods an ‘okay’ back; he doesn’t know how well that’ll blow over, but it’s the least he can do, given it’s his idea.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, the only noises entering through the windows as they pass by crowds and bicycles the farther into downtown they go.

The Warehouse isn’t a very apt name for the two story building, as it looks more like a grocery store than anything else, but whatever Miles wanted, Michael guesses. He pulls into an alleyway and goes around to the back parking lot, where five other cars are parked and not a single person is to be seen. Michael parks and the pair gets out of the car and walks into the building, nodding to the guard on post just inside the door as they go past.

They immediately go to the right when the hallway splits and Michael knocks on the door to the weapons room. Kerry opens the door a moment later with a bright smile.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Kerry’s voice is a bit too chipper, and Michael raises his eyebrow at him. What the fuck, did the guy not know what they did last night?

“We need to speak to Monty. We’re-” Kerry cuts Gavin off.

“Monty’s busy right now, boys, come back in about an hour?” His smile lessens from genuine to forced and he begins to close to door when Michael puts his foot in to stop it.

“It’s an emergency, Kerry.” This grabs his attention. “We’re in a turf war with Red right now, thanks to what happened last night.”

There’s a beat where nothing happens, and then Kerry is a flurry of motion, running back into the room to grab a few files and his phone and then rushing out, motioning for Michael and Gavin to follow him.

They continue along the same hallway until they reach the very end and Kerry opens the door without knocking (Michael notices Gavin wince at Kerry’s brazenness).

“Kerry, I told you I’m busy right now, what do you-”

“Monty, we’re in deep shit right now, we’re in a turf war with Red because of Plan G and just. Uh. They’ll explain. I have some calls to make, okay?” And just like that, Kerry’s gone, and Michael and Gavin are left in his wake with Monty Oum staring at them with an entirely blank expression behind a large desk. His office is small, with only his desk, some folding chairs, and few fake plants around for decoration or something. The paint is faded and peeling in the corners, and Michael isn’t sure how he should stand. Should he keep his back straight and stand up tall? Should he look angry and intimidating? Because seriously what the fuck.

Monty blinks.

“Miles, close the door.”

Michael looks around to find who Monty is talking to and notices the man in the corner, who is quickly typing something into his phone before he shoves it into his pants pocket and moves to close the door silently. When he moves back into his space he pulls his phone back around, a small smile gracing his face, and Michael thinks he doesn’t look so intimidating when he smiles (or, rather, when he smiles in joy and not in bloodlust).

“So I already know we’re in a turf war; those were your orders. But what happened that you needed to speak with me about?” Monty motions for them to sit down, so they do, and Michael is grateful.

Michael opens his mouth to answer, but Gavin’s already speaking a mile a minute, relaying the entirety of last night’s events to the man before them.

“And so Geoff’s missing, and I never got the package, and we just. Don’t know what to do, Monty.” Gavin’s hands, which had been moving about during his story, now flop to his lap and his entire body deflates in defeat. He doesn’t stay still for long, though, as he begins playing with his fingers in his lap almost immediately, and Monty folds his own hands together as he thinks over the situation.

“I’ll do my best to find Geoff, of course, even if it’s only his body we get back. You bet your ass I’m going to do that, Gavin.” Gavin smiles, albeit a tad bitterly at the thought, and Monty goes silent again for a few minutes more before saying, “The package wasn’t all that important, although the loss of money is something to be noted. But hey, it wasn’t my money so it’s not my problem; he can find another place to buy his shit, right boys?” Monty smiles at them, and the pair smiles tightly back; Michael gives a jerky nod, as well. Neither Michael nor Gavin know who “he” is, but suspect it’s whoever made the request for Mr. Pattillo to be killed.

“Well, I’ll take care of everything from this end, boys, go see Kara so she can check you guys out and make sure you don’t have any internal bleeding or anything, alright?” As Monty is telling them this, his phone goes off and his entire demeanor shifts into what Michael deems as Super Professional Mode, Bitches.

Monty answers the phone with a terse “What do you want, Haywood?” and Miles’ head immediately shoots up and he shoos the pair out of the room as quickly as he can.

As Michael and Gavin stand outside the door, they take a breath and look at each other with the same question burning in their bones: What the fuck was _that_?

…

“No, Chris, oh my God, no, you throw the Frisbee like _this_ , yeah?”

A voice echoes through to Michael as he and Gavin enter a much larger room; well, it’s the entire upper floor, really, as the only “rooms” are in the first floor. In the very middle of the room are Caleb Denecour and Chris Demarais, and Gavin chuckles a bit next to him.

“Are you gonna try and teach everyone in the gang how to play Ultimate, Caleb, or do you just like me and Chris that much?” He calls out, and his voice echoes in the large room. A woman laughs, and Michael notices Kara sitting off to the side, sitting backwards on a rolling chair, and watching the pair attempt to play sports together.

Caleb pouts as they walk closer to the trio.

“Oh, come on Gavin, Ultimate is really cool!” He whines and Chris shakes his head.

“Dude, you throw a Frisbee back and forth until somebody manages to stand in a circle with it in their hands. Wow. Amazing. It’s almost like it’s based off of soccer!” Chris says sarcastically, and Gavin corrects him by chiming in with a quick “You mean football.”

Everyone says “Shut the fuck up, Gavin.” at exactly the same moment, and everyone minus the Brit in question laughs for a very long time.

“And anyways, it’s about ten million times better than soccer is- don’t even do it, Gavin- , so you can suck it Chris.” Caleb is still chuckling through his retort, and Kara deepens her voice to say “oooh, you done just got burned, Demarais!” and the room erupts into laughter again.

As everyone quiets again, Gavin turns to Kara and asks her to check out his gunshot wound, so she nods and pushes herself over to a small cot and motions for Gavin to lay down on it.

As Kara unwraps his bandages and begins cleaning his wound, Michael turns to look at Caleb and Chris.

“How long’s Caleb been here, again? Two weeks?” He asks, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the boy in question from explaining yet another rule of the Best Sport Ever™.

“Yeah, why?” Gavin’s voice is muffled due to him lying face down.

“Does he even understand what we do? He’s, what, nineteen? Twenty?”

Kara scoffs.

“He’s a lot older than that, Michael; he’s twenty-four. And Caleb’s smart, I’m sure he wouldn’t be here if he could help it.” Kara throws away her cleaning supplies and the old bandages before asking Michael to hand her the clean bandages that are in the cabinet next to him. He complies before speaking again.

“Yeah, well, you’re smart too, Kara. Why the fuck are you here? You’ve got a nursing degree, a loving family…how the fuck did you end up in a shit hole like this?” His voice is soft as he looks at her; her movements pause, and she smiles wryly.

“Someone had to keep Chris from dying.”

And she leaves it at that.

 

**Part III**

Michael wearily walks down the hall to his apartment, his feet dragging against the floor. He sighs; how much sleep did he get last night? Three hours? Four? God, he needed to just lie down and sleep for about five hundred years, and then (and only then) would he be ready to face the world and its horrors.

“Hey, shithead.”

Michael looks up to see a woman standing in front of his door and it takes his sleep-deprived brain and moment to register the shit-eating smile and the red hair: Lindsay Tuggey. She’s wearing street clothes, which means she isn’t here to pick him up to go do a job or anything (which Michael is infinitely grateful for), but she _is_ carrying a couple bags, which is odd but not overly so. Michael rolls his eyes at her and motions for her to move out of the way so he can unlock his door easily.

“What do you want, asshole?”

Despite Michael being relatively new, he and Lindsay go way back; they knew each other in high school, when Lindsay had (very briefly) lived in his hometown and went to his high school before being carted off somewhere else. She had saved him from a painfully boring school year where it was just his brother and himself against the world, making their duo into a trio. Time was spent having really stupidly entertaining Yu-Gi-Oh and Pokemon card game marathons and watching shitty TV and making fun of just about everyone else in the school. Her father got promoted again, however, and she moved back to her hometown.

And even though they had kept in touch ever since then, it was only by chance that they met again in Austin.

“To piss you off, obviously.”

Michael pushes open his door and holds it open for her to walk in (he knows his manners, thank you very fucking much) and she slams down her bags on his couch before walking loudly into his kitchen. He locks the door behind him, mockingly calling out to her for her to just go ahead and make herself feel at home. She chuckles back at him before shutting the refrigerator door shut and walks back into the living room, putting two beers on the coffee table and sitting down on his couch. Michael walks over to her and sits next to her and opens the two beers, handing one to him.

“Good.” She says after taking a swig. “I’m gonna be staying here for the next two or three weeks. Or, y’know, indefinitely. But at least two to three weeks. Where’s the remote control?”

Michael just stares at her.

“Uh, why the fuck do you need to stay here?” His grip on his beer goes slack for a moment and he almost drops it, but tightens it at the last moment and saves it. She laughs openly and takes another sip before answering.

“Because my roommate lied to me about paying rent and we got evicted and her parents didn’t feel like giving me a room as well, asshole, now come on, are you gonna let me stay or what?” At Michael’s pause, her face changes expression to a pleading one, complete with pouting lips and wide eyes, and Michael wonders if his entire life is going to be spent surrounded by whiny idiots. “Come on, Michael, I’m homeless and it’s raining outside, you aren’t going to kick me out of my only friend’s home, are you?”

It is neither raining nor is Michael Lindsay’s only friend, but the exaggeration does its intended trick; Michael sighs and gives in.

“Fine, but no more than two months, okay?” Which, granted, is a whole month longer than Lindsay had said she’s going to be here for, but Michael also knows finding somewhere cheap enough for people like them to afford and it not having anyone around that could become suspicious and call the cops on them is difficult, so he gives her some room to find a place. And Michael’s already begun to consider just letting her room with him permanently, if she can fork up rent, because it took him almost a year to find this place when he’d moved to Austin, so two months is certainly a time crunch.

Lindsay just smiles at him. “Thanks, dude.” She turns to the TV and continues with, “But, seriously, where’s the remote, because there’s a new Criminal Minds on tonight and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna miss it.”

Michael gets up and retrieves the remote from the top of the television and leaves Lindsay to finish off the two beers and to watch television, and he goes to bed. He doesn’t even think about changing out of the clothes he’s been in the past two days, he doesn’t think about hopping into the shower to wash off the sweat and dirt, he doesn’t even think about how Lindsay’s always hated Criminal Minds, he just falls into the bed and falls into a deep sleep.

Lindsay, however, back in the living room, is far from sleep. The second Michael’s door is shut firmly she turns the volume down a few levels and switches the channel to something random (and certainly not Criminal Minds, dear Lord on high, no) and reaches into her back pocket to retrieve her cell phone. She dials the numbers she’d been forced to memorize (if she ever got caught and her phone got searched, then he’d be in huge fucking trouble) and Monty answers after halfway through the fourth ring.

“What do you want?”

She takes a deep breath and replies. “I’m in Michael’s apartment, and he said I could stay for two months.”

“We agreed on three weeks, Tuggey.” His voice is curt, annoyed. Damn. Lindsay takes a moment to think about how she can salvage the situation.

“Yes, sir, we did, and I won’t need two months, but if he’s willing to let me stay a whole month and a week more than I said, it means he trusts me, right?” Lindsay listens to Monty’s pause, her nerves on edge, breath quick but stifled.

Eventually, he answers. “Alright. Good work, Tuggey. Don’t let him know you’re watching him.”

She sighs inaudibly, the tension leaving her as quickly as it had come.

“Of course not, sir. I’ll make sure he doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Don’t let me down, Tuggey.”

Monty hangs up and Lindsay tosses her phone onto the couch cushion beside her. She runs a hand through her hair and then down her face; speaking with him never ceases to be frightening. Not after what she’s seen him do. Her breath hitches at the memories that briefly flit through her mind; blood spattered walls and manic grins and cruel laughter floating across her eyes.

She shakes her head, throwing the weight off for a few hours more. She focuses on the television in front of her again, the telenovela numbing her mind with a language she can’t even understand and a situation that requires way too much background to even bother caring. But it’s enough of a distraction, so she clings onto it quickly, and lays down, allowing herself to fall asleep to the sound of a weeping Isabel as she holds Frederico’s long-lost son.

…

Geoff looks at the two men before him, and wonders again how he got into such a ridiculous situation. Some bullshit reasons, probably.

And as Joel explains to him for the sixth time exactly what Geoff is going to do for the remainder of the month, Geoff sighs.

 _Really_ fucking bullshit problems.

“So are we clear on that, Mr. Ramsey?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fucking crystal, J-Roll.” He should really have a job in comedy. He’d be so fucking great at that. Joel narrows his eyes at him, and, almost like a bird, puffs himself up, showing off his brute strength by way of showing his police badge and strong muscles. Geoff doesn’t pay him any attention as he continues on with his next question. “How much am I getting paid again?”

Joel shifts his attention to the other man, who is sitting behind a rather large and formidable desk. Fitting for the mayor, Geoff guesses.

Burnie Burns locks his gaze with Geoff, and doesn’t say anything. He leans forward in his (much more comfortable than Geoff’s) chair, his hands folding together on the desk, and still says nothing. Geoff shuffles in his seat, uncomfortable.

“As much as I think you’re worth, Geoff. Just do the job well and you’ll be paid appropriately.”

Geoff almost, _almost_ , opens his mouth to demand a more concise answer, until he remembers who he’s dealing with. Austin’s mayor for five years running now, lover of children and elderly alike, and the citizens couldn’t ask for a better mayor, especially since the crime syndicates have been nearly “wiped out” according to Mayor Burns. Heh. As if. It was more along the lines of Burnie having a tight-ass grip on every gang in the area, and in high favor of every other gang in all of Texas and even branching out into the southwest.

That being said, Geoff doesn’t dare speak out against him.

“Sounds good to me, sir.”

Burnie smiles at him, all teeth and fake joy at Geoff’s reply.

“Wonderful, Geoff. Glad to know that I can trust you after all these years.”

They both know he can’t, but neither of them say anything. Not with Joel in the room. Burnie turns back to the crooked police man and goes to say something, but pauses, and glances back to Geoff; the mayor decides upon writing what he had meant to say on a piece of paper instead, and hands it to Joel.

Geoff _really_ wishes he knew what that paper says.

Joel reads it over in a second, and his eyebrows furrow. “What, you want me to go get him right now?” His voice is incredulous and in a heartbeat both he and Geoff know it’s the wrong tone to have.

Burnie’s mouth thins, and he replies coldly. “I don’t know, Joel, what does it say on the fucking paper?”

Both men swallow in fear.

“Y-yes, sir, I’ll do it right away.”

“Good. Have a good day, boys.”

Burnie nods at them both, and they know it’s a dismissal. Geoff just nods, and Joel ushers him out of the room.

…

Jack Pattillo stands in his newly acquired room- er, sorry, _motherfucking huge ass office building._

His head’s still reeling from the entire situation, to be honest. Let’s recap, shall we?

Jack had been sitting in his living room in his home, proudly surveying the new addition he had done with his own hands. Beautiful, real oak wood for the floors and stained redwood for the shelves and a marble countertop; a new television was hung in the corner just a few minutes prior to someone knocking on his door rather annoyingly and unceasingly, so Jack got up to investigate.

When he had opened the door, Gus Sorola had greeted him with a grim face, and Jack sighed deeply.

“What does my father need now?” And Jack may have sounded less-than-friendly, but who could blame him? With the amount of times Gus had shown up at his house at both ungodly and surprisingly reasonable hours of the day with terrible news (always terrible, never good; his mother shot, his brother in jail for smuggling from Canada), anyone would agree with Jack that seeing Gus was generally a Very Bad Thing. Thus, the bad attitude.

But, for the first time in Jack’s memory, Gus faltered. His mouth opened and closed and he looked like a right fish out of water as he gasped for words and meaning.

“I-well…your father…he…” Gus had said, over and over, attempting to start sentences and then discarding them again.

“Dude, just spit it out, what’s going on?” Needless to say, Gus’ actions had caused Jack to become worried; despite Jack’s very distant relationship with his father, he really doubted he could take the last member of his family being ripped away from him.

And, of course, when Gus was able to finally formulate a proper sentence, that was exactly what had happened.

Jack’s eyes had widened and he had slumped down his door in shock,  breath shallow and thoughts racing and denial already in place because his father was old as shit and had always been in this business and _he got shot because some of Monty’s people coming to pick up a fucking package two days ago_?

“Look, man, I’m sorry for your loss, you know that, but I gotta get you to Base because everything’s kind of complete shit right now there and everybody needs to see that the Pattillo’s are still in charge. I mean, yeah, I was supposed to be the boss, but I was told that wasn’t allowed so hey, y’know, whatever, not my fucking problem. But seriously, we gotta go, like, right now, man.” And with that, Gus had grabbed his arm and hauled him to Base and now he’s. Well, right where we left him.

“Jack, this is your office.”

Gus is still beside him and Jack is still shell-shocked. He’s confused and kind of really wants to cry but knows he can’t; not where he is. His office is huge and the windows are wall-to-wall and he’s seven stories up and wow, it’s a lot ritzier than his house. Glass desk, beautiful chair, a miniature aquarium tucked into the corner; pictures of the Pattillo family litter the desk and there are papers strewn about the room and it all reeks of his father and oh, God, he thinks he’s going to be sick.

Jack just nods and Gus takes the message and leads Jack away from the room.

Immediately, they’re both assaulted by people asking questions about anything and everything and it’s all way too much and Jack _really_ doesn’t think he can handle this-

A hand is shoved into his face the second Gus clears people away.

“Hello, Mr. Pattillo, my name’s Ray Narvaez Junior and I’ll be your assistant.”

Jack looks in front of him to see a rather young man, with glasses and dark hair and a huge, eager smile. And the man is still talking, shit.

“…and just think of me as your go-for guy, sir, anything you need and I’ll be happy to get it. My talents include being shockingly Caucasian and having a huge-ass gamer score and falling asleep while getting haircuts.” Ray’s voice trails off from his comedy routine when Gus clears his throat and makes a slicing motion with his hand, signaling him to cut it out. Jack is still silent and staring at the hand offered to him, so he silently shakes it and mumbles a greeting.

Ray takes that as his cue and excuses himself; he mentions having to go speak with the Pink Ladies about some security issues, anyway, and walks quickly past them, his head hanging.

Jack turns to Gus for explanation. Pink Ladies?

“Ah, that’s just the nickname we have for our security specialists here. Austin Hardwicke and Ali Baker both have pink hair, so it kind of stuck. They do background checks on everyone we deal with and make sure they’re good for their word, and so we know what kind of money to offer them, because why would we offer half a mil’ if they’ll take three hundred thousand, right? They also do regular security work, like cameras and shit.” He pauses and then continues. “Although JJ is now a part of it, and he has no pink hair to speak of, but the name is kind of. Yeah.” Gus trails off awkwardly and Jack nods. This place is a lot more put together than Jack thought it would be; his father sure is- _was_ thorough. The tense sticks in his throat awkwardly. Gus clears his own throat and walks on down the hallway and stops in front of a door a few feet down, opening it without knocking and Jack assumes he’s supposed to follow so he does.

It’s a relatively large room for an office, but compared to his father’s (his, now) office, it’s tiny. There are tables littered with boxes and guns hung up along the walls with vests and binoculars and other surveillance material scattered throughout the weaponry. Jack immediately recognizes it for what it is: the weapons room. There’s a blonde woman on the far side of the room along with two men and they’re in what seems to be a serious conversation and haven’t noticed Gus and Jack yet.

“Look, I don’t care about the backstory, I’m sure you’re the one who put water in the vodka bottle, and that is seriously not cool, man, I was looking forward to-” The man on the left is cut off by the woman.

“Come on, Jordan, I’m sure he’s telling the truth; I’ve seen a bottle like that before, okay, there’s no need to-”

“See, she believes me!” The man on the right jumps into the conversation and Gus sighs deeply.

“Excuse me.” Gus says loudly, clearly annoyed with having to wait for his presence to be known; the group in front of them jumps and turns around, apologizing for not having seen them. Gus continues. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, this is Jack, Mr. Pattillo’s son, and he’s the boss now, so look sharp. Dustin, go tell Mr. Haywood to expect us in a few minutes.” The guy on the far left darts out of the room as the other two straighten their appearance quickly (not that they had looked sloppy to begin with). Gus chuckles for a moment and then tells them to introduce themselves.

The woman is the first to speak.

“Barbara Dunkelman, lead weapons specialist.” Is all she says but everyone expects her to say more so she has to hit the guy beside her; he jolts and then begins his introduction.

“Jordan Cwierz, weapons specialist and cataloguer.” He nods when he’s finished, as if making himself not continue, as Barbara had kept hers short.

Jack smiles at them. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

They seem a bit surprised to hear that and are quick to thank him and respond in kind.

Jack is curious as to what they do specifically, but Gus wants to move on, so move on they do, further down the hall and to an elevator where they go up a few more floors. They exit the elevator and walk through a few different hallways before stopping outside a door, which Gus knocks on, this time. The door doesn’t open for three minutes, and when it does, it doesn’t open entirely; instead, it barely opens enough to see a dark-skinned man peeking through the crack to see who it is.

“Password?” He says quietly, and Gus sighs.

“Brandon, you know who I am, let me the fuck in.” Gus seems irritated and Jack smiles at that. This is the Gus he’s used to.

The man- Brandon- just shakes his head and repeats his question.

Gus pauses before hesitantly muttering “Edgar” and Brandon opens the door fully with a bright smile and a condescending “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Gus just scowls.

“Hello, Mr. Sorola, Mr. Pattillo. Please, have a seat, both of you.”

They do and Jack gets a good look at the man before him. Around his age, clearly in possession of a lot of power, and has a slightly crazed look in his eyes that cause Jack to shudder.

“I’m Ryan Haywood. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Ryan smiles at them both and Jack hesitantly reciprocates the action, although he doesn’t particularly want t be friendly to this guy; he isn’t quite sure why. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering what-”

A piercing sound rings through the air from behind Jack and Ryan’s face immediately looks like he’s going  to murder someone just for a phone going off.

“Brandon,” Ryan’s voice is tight and Jack can practically feel Brandon’s fear from his seat, “I thought I told you to program the phone so only calls from Mr. Oum come through.”

“W-well, I…I did, sir, and it is Mr. Oum, so…” Brandon holds out the phone to Ryan who plucks it from the bodyguard’s grasp, Brandon’s hand flinching away when their skin connects. Ryan fixes an obviously painful smile to his face and answers the still ringing phone.

“Hello, Mr. Oum, I wasn’t expecting another call from you for a few days.”  He’s paused for a few moments before obviously interrupting whoever’s speaking on the other line. “What do you mean ‘there are new developments’, Oum?!” His demeanor loses anything resembling a professional manner and he’s pure anger and frustration and, yeah, Jack doesn’t want to get on this guys bad side. Ryan’s whole body is tense and wound up and he looks ready to punch somebody, and when his hand flashes out to wave Jack and Gus away in dismissal Jack flinches visibly.

When they’re back in the same hallway they were in a few moments ago, Jack just looks to Gus and says “Who is that guy, exactly?”

Gus doesn’t reply, just keeps walking, a look of concentration on his face.

 

**Part IV**

The feeling of the floor connecting with his face is enough to wake Michael up.

“Wake up, idiot, it’s already four in the afternoon.”

Michael groans in pain and rolls over to see Lindsay looming over him, her face annoyed and tired; Michael’s sure his face looks exactly the same. He nods to her, groaning out something resembling an affirmation, and she leaves. He hears her clinking about in the kitchen and prays she’s making him something to eat because damn, he’s fucking hungry. When did he last eat, anyway?

His stomach only replies in gurgles.

Michael stands up lazily, tossing his tangled blanket back onto the bed and going straight to the bathroom and taking a long, _long_ shower; the stress eases out of his muscles slowly and painfully but eventually he’s relaxed enough to start a new day full of stress and death. Great.

When he towels off and is dressed for the day he walks into his kitchen and thanks the Lord that Lindsay did, in fact, make breakfast for him. Granted, it’s just scrambled eggs and toast and a pot of coffee, but he’s never been more grateful for food in his life, and it smells absolutely delicious. Lindsay laughs at how quickly Michael tucks into the meal laid out before him and he just flips her off.

After the dishes are done and Lindsay’s taking her turn in the shower, Michael goes to check his phone and sees a text from Gavin.

_still no word from geoff, but miles says we have a job today- picking up a package in port arthur. he says he was gonna go but he has an emergency to take care of so we gotta pick up the slack. we need to be there around ten so ill pick you up in an hour or so so we can just get smth to eat on the way down. meet me downstairs so itll be quicker._

Michael notices when the text was sent and subtracts ten minutes from the hour Gavin gave him, but then something catches his eye. 

_Sounds good, but I thought you couldn’t drive?_

A reply doesn’t come for another twenty minutes.

_just because i dont have a license doesnt mean i dont know how to drive._

Michael smirks. So that’s how he wants to play this, huh?

_You do know the driver’s side is on the left, here, right?_

_of course i do! ive lived here long enough, you pleb_

Michael’s full-on smiling now and he chuckles at how defensive Gavin is being.

_Do you even know where I live?_

_yeah, miles gave me your address_

_But do you know how to get here?_

_i can work a gps michael thank you ill be there in twenty_

Michael doesn’t bother replying and instead focuses on cleaning up his apartment. Lindsay isn’t the kind of woman to clean up after herself, so Michael sets himself to picking up her sheets from the couch and the socks from under the coffee table. He then moves to his bedroom and fixes his own sheets before kneeling down and pulling out a box which holds all of his weapons. They’re just going to pick up a package so he shouldn’t need anything to huge; he picks up a semi-automatic pistol and goes to put the box away before rethinking his decision.

Plan G was supposed to just be picking up a package, and look how that turned out.

He grabs a rifle and two extra ammo packs before going downstairs and waiting for Gavin. While it is Austin, it’s still Texas, so only two people look at him sideways before shaking their head and going on their way.

Gavin pulls up three minutes later and Michael motions for him to get out.

“There’s no way we’re going all the way to Port Arthur with you driving.” Gavin just laughs a bit and goes to sit in the passenger seat as Michael puts his rifle and ammo in the backseat and then walking around the car and sitting in the driver’s seat. “I’ve never been to Port Arthur so look up directions for me, will ya?” Gavin nods and pulls out his phone and looks up directions, instructing Michael where and when to turn until they eventually get on the right interstate and are making their steady way south.

The drive down is spent in awkward silence for about two hours, Gavin’s pre-set radio stations eventually fizzing out of range and they’re stuck trying to find a station that isn’t country, heavy metal, or top forty. Needless to say, it’s a failure, and Michael eventually gives up and shuts the radio off with a harsh hit to the button. The only conversation that goes between them is when Gavin tells him which exits to take.

At the end of the first two hours, Gavin apparently gets fed up with Michael’s silence.

“So has Monty said anything to you about Geoff?” Gavin’s still looking outside at the passing scenery, or, rather, lack of it, considering it’s all desert.

Michael’s voice is hesitant. “No. Not a word.” He pauses, but then “I mean, he’d said it’d get taken care of, so it’ll get taken care of, right? I mean, it’s Monty we’re talking about, he never lets a job go undone.”

Gavin shrugs. “I guess, but people go MIA all the time in lives like ours, don’t they? Would he even care that much?” He sighs. “Geoff’s probably just another number to him.”

Michael looks at him. “Come on, Gav, he’ll turn up. I barely knew Geoff and I know he can handle something like this.”

“But what if he’s dead, Michael?”

Michael makes a frustrated noise and hits Gavin’s shoulder.

“Buck the fuck up, man, just a few days ago you were telling me Geoff’ll turn out fine, so take your own advice for once, will you?”

Gavin’s quiet once more, and Michael doesn’t know what else to say. He’s always had someone else comforting him, calming him down from panic attack after panic attack, so he isn’t… _good_ at things like this.  

Michael leaves him be.

…

“So where do you want to stop to eat, Michael?” Gavin’s gaze is stuck to the passing signs, looking for the familiar blue one that will direct them to food and gas stops at the next exit. When they eventually pass it, Gavin rattles off the various fast-food restaurants and Michael sighs.

“I guess…I don’t know, fast-food sucks dicks, you pick.”

Gavin thinks over his choices and grimaces. He was hoping Michael would just pick for him because he’s terrible with making decisions.

“If you want we could wait and see what the next exit has to eat?”

Michael just shrugs and Gavin sighs. This is shaping up to be as successful as that one time Gavin tried to beat Geoff in Halo (read: not successful at all).

“Okay, we’ll wait for the next exit then.” And so Gavin sits back to wait for the next blue sign to come up along the side of the interstate.

When they do spot the sign, there’s only a few fast-food restaurants, but Gavin sees a name that he doesn’t recognize and suggests they stop there to eat. Again, Michael just shrugs and goes to pull off onto the exit, following the directions until they reach the local steak grill.

Before going inside they make sure their weapons are hidden below the empty luggage bags Gavin had thoughtfully provided (and the one duffel bag that’s filled with cash), and then go inside. Michael groans when he sees their mistake: cowboy hats are hung up everywhere, old rifles leaning against each other in a barrel, scantily-clad waitresses in cowboy boots and hats are walking around with thick southern accents.

They both spot the bar and make a beeline for it.

The bartender is just as ridiculously dressed as the waitresses, and Michael is about seventy-three percent sure his accent is fake, but they both shrug it off and order drinks; once they get their drinks, they get a waitress’ attention and are seated at a table in the middle of the room. Their food is whatever the waitress recommends (which, in hindsight, was probably a bad choice considering she most likely gave them both the most expensive meal on the menu but whatever). But the steak and mashed potatoes and carrots are delicious and Michael and Gavin chew for a few minutes before Gavin decides to break the silence again.

“So where are you from, Michael?”

And immediately cringes because seriously, what the fuck kind of a question is that.

“Uh…” Michael looks a bit taken aback and doesn’t know whether to be insulted that Gavin thought a line like that would work on him, or to laugh in his face. Instead, he does neither. “New Jersey?”

Gavin looks a bit surprised that Michael answered, but rolls with it. “Really? You don’t really sound like it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve lived in Austin for the past two years, haven’t I?”

This throws Gavin for a loop. “You have? But I thought you were new to…well, y’know.”

“I am.” Michael’s says it more like a question, wondering what Gavin’s getting at.

“Well why’d you move to Austin in the first place, then?”

Michael is silent for a long time, and then gives an almost-laugh. “Stupid reasons.”

Gavin is about to ask Michael what he means when the waitress comes by with to make sure everything’s okay. They ask for the check, so she smiles brightly and goes to get it.

“So where you from, Mr. Weird Accent?” Michael’s tone is teasing and his lips have formed into a gentle smirk. Gavin chuckles; he should have seen this coming.

“Oxfordshire, England. And before you ask, I came to America to get into high-speed cinematography out in Hollywood.”

Michael opens his mouth to ask how he ended up in a fucking _gang,_ but the waitress comes by with the check and an argument then ensues when they realize the waitress had assumed they were on a date and given them only one check and promptly left before they noticed. So now Gavin’s insisting he can cover it, and Michael’s insisting he can cover it, and they eventually just give up and pay half each, although Michael leaves behind the tip without Gavin noticing.

Their conversation is promptly forgotten, and they lapse back into a much more amiable silence the rest of the ride to Port Arthur.

…

The pier in Port Arthur is vacant bar four men at the far end; lights are strung up along the rails and the stars glitter above and the moon reflects off the ocean, but Michael still shivers from the cold blowing off the waves. He’s always hated jobs like this, where there’s no one around but them; he takes comfort in people around, witnesses should anything go wrong. He’s used to the protection of innocent strangers.

The small coastline amusement park behind them is jam-packed, however, so it soothes Michael’s nerves slightly, despite the distance between them.

Their footsteps are loud on the pier, laughter from the park behind them bouncing across the waves. The length of the pier worries Michael; if they have to run, it will take them a while to get to the park and try to lose their pursuers, which means more time to get caught and skinned alive.

Gavin’s voice breaks the silence.

“Excuse me; we’re here to pick up a package for a Mr. Jaune Arc.”

Michael only has a brief moment to wonder who Mr. Arc is before the men standing at the end of the pier turn around to face them, and Michael steps slightly behind Gavin when he sees their scarred faces and sinister grins. His heart is going way too fast and his skin is clammy and he can hardly hear beyond the adrenaline rushing through his veins and Gavin _clearly_ has a better handle on this, so.

“Oh, yeah? You guys work for him? Because we were told he was coming here direct.”

The man speaking to him is tall and has a slight lisp to his words (clearly the boss, judging by his stance), but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. Especially not with the machete he’s got strapped to his thigh.

“Yes, we do. He had an emergency come up that he couldn’t trust anyone else with; I’m sure you know how those things go.” Gavin gives the man a smile that is clearly sarcastic.

“Well, see, Mr. Arc was coming to pick a package up from Mr. Sorola, who had an emergency. Sounds kinda fishy to me. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Gavin looks the man straight in the eyes, and Michael shivers. Gavin looks completely different than he had five minutes prior, like he isn’t afraid to rip the intestines straight from your belly and tear your heart out and fling them both into the ocean below them. He exudes power and confidence and Michael is… _insanely_ turned on by it.

Well, that’s certainly a new development.

“Why don’t you give him a call and check yourself?”

The man just continues to stare at them before laughing abruptly. Michael jolts, not expecting it.

“I like you, boy.” He nods to one of the grunts behind him, and the grunt walks over to Gavin and Michael, a nondescript package in hand; Michael takes it. “You don’t take shit from anyone. I like it. Remind me of myself when I was your age.”

 Gavin hums in acknowledgement before throwing the duffle bag full of cash at the man’s feet.

“Thank you for your services, gentlemen, I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Arc how accommodating you all were of us.” Gavin’s smile is still sarcastic and his demeanor screams danger, but he turns around calmly and walks away; Michael is quick to follow.

Once they are back to the car and have driven about an hour and are sure they aren’t being followed, Michael allows himself to breathe once more.

“So who the fuck is Mr. Arc?” Michael’s nerves are so frazzled out right now that the sentence comes out in a quiet laugh and Gavin joins right in.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea, Miles just told me to tell them that.” A thought crosses Gavin’s mind and he’s full on laughing now, tears slowly forming in his eyes. “What if- what if it’s his secret identity? Oh my god, Miles actually made a secret identity, this is bloody brilliant, oh my God.”

They’re both laughing hard as they speak, pausing for breath awkwardly between and in words, laughing harder and harder as their image of Miles gains a tuxedo and a champagne glass with three blonde women hanging off of his arm as he demands his drink be shaken, not stirred.

“W--when do you think he came up with i--it?” Gavin’s laughter twists Michael’s name even worse than usual and the sounds dances across Michael’s skin and he has to resist running his fingers through Gavin’s hair as the Brit leans back in laughter.

“I have no fucking idea, Gav, but his first name is s--seriously fucking _Jaune_ , holy shit, how stupid _is_ that.”

“Hello, yes, my name is Jaune Arc and I have a stupid obsession with the Game Grumps.”

They would never say any of this if Miles was here, or if he had any chance of hearing them or hearing of this conversation; Miles is a powerful man, and they…aren’t.

But when it’s just them, it feels amazing, like freedom and summer sun boiling across his skin and getting tipsy on a Friday night before going swimming in the lake. They can do anything they want, go anywhere they want, be anyone they want.

Michael’s laughter slows down and Gavin notices.

“What’s wrong, Michael?”

“Do you ever feel like…you just want to leave?”

They’re both silent.

“You know nobody can leave, Michael. They always find you.”

“But they don’t track us. We could just go anywhere, right now, Gav. No ties to anybody or anything, we wouldn’t have to answer to Monty or Kerry or anybody else ever again, and I could be an electrician again and you could do your filmography or whatever and-”

Gavin cuts him off.

“Michael, I have people that need me. I have Griffon and Millie that I need to care for while Geoff’s gone, okay, we can’t just-” And as he goes on, Michael notices that not once does Gavin mention the fact that they barely know each other as a reason for not going with him. His spine feels trapped in ice at the notion.

“I know, I know, okay. I just. Sometimes I wish…”

Michael can’t complete his sentence and Gavin doesn’t make him.

He knows. He knows all too well.

…

By the time they can see the Austin skyline Michael is beyond exhausted and is hardly paying attention while driving; there’s not another car in sight at this time of night (or, as it is, morning) and Gavin is asleep beside him. Michael doesn’t have the heart (or the stomach) to wake him up and ask him to drive the rest of the way home.

It isn’t until the police lights come on in his rearview mirror, however, does Michael even glance at his speedometer and- holy fucking shit, yeah, he’d pull himself over too. He should have been paying attention, they’re going to fucking search his car and see the weapons and they’ll both get arrested and Miles won’t get his package and _fuck_ -

He pulls onto the side of the road, shuts the car off, and jostles Gavin awake. His head lolls around and a very intelligent “whassaguh?” comes from his mouth. If they hadn’t been in such an awful situation, Michael would have teased the shit out of him; as it is, he just tells Gavin what’s happening.

“I was speeding like a motherfucker because I was tired, I should have been paying attention, I’m sorry, we got pulled over, just act like a normal person for fuck’s sake, Gavin, please.” Michael speaks quickly, panic setting into his muscles, causing his fingers to twitch and his legs to shake and breath to shorten. _Christ_ , he can’t even breathe now, his lungs are on fire as he tries to slow his breathing down and  tears prick at his eyes.

“Michael, calm down.”

Michael shakes his head jerkily.

“Michael, look at me.”

Michael does.

Their eyes lock.

“Breathe. Just look at me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Here.” Gavin grabs Michael’s right hand and places it on his chest. “Feel when I breathe. Breathe with me.”

He does. Their breathing synchronizes and Michael’s never felt more calm. Michael can feel Gavin’s heart beat, can tell how dissimilar his is compared to Gavin’s- his is erratic, a mile a minute, while Gavin’s is steady and relaxing. They stay like that, beat for beat, until Michael’s heart slows appropriately and he can breathe again.

They’re still looking at each other, neither of them willing to look away. Michael’s heart speeds up for an entirely different reason, and he wonders if Gavin can feel it.

There’s a knock on Michael’s window and they both turn to look at it; Michael rolls the window down and the head of the cop peers in and Gavin lets out the wildest laugh of relief.

“J-Roll!”

“Gavin?!”

“What the fuck is going on.”

“Michael, this is my buddy Joel! He works with Geoff.” Gavin’s smiling widely and Joel smiles right back. Michael’s still confused but he is certainly thankful for their dumb luck.

“Yeah, and you guys’re lucky it was me that clocked you. Your buddy here would’ve gotten a terrible ticket, speeding like that. As it is, I’ll let it go, and since you’re a friend of Gavin’s and Geoff’s, apparently, I’ll make sure you won’t get any more speeding tickets.”

For some reason, Joel’s smile seems…well, like Gavin’s had seemed out on the pier. Sarcastic. Fake.

But if Gavin trusts him, Michael will, too.

“Uh, thanks…Joel.” Michael hesitantly answers and Joel just wishes them a good night before walking back to his car and driving off.

“Joel’s a good guy. Well, I mean, he’s a crooked cop and works for a gang, but I mean. You know. He’s a good guy.” Gavin’s still smiling and Michael laughs again.

“Okay, I’ve had enough surprises for tonight. How about we just get the damn package to Miles,” The thought of him calling himself Jaune Arc almost sets them both off again, but they rein it in, “so you can drop me off and we can both go to bed because it is almost three o’clock in the fucking morning and I need my beauty sleep.”

Gavin smiles.

“Sounds good, my little Michael.”

Michael’s heart stutters as he turns the car back on and drives in the direction of the Warehouse.

 

**Part V**

 

Jack Pattillo stares at the chair in front of his fath- fuck, _his_ desk. It’s _his_ office, _his_ desk, his chair, _his_ giant-ass aquarium.

His father had sat in this desk not five days prior. Sprinkled water for the plants, tossed food in for the fish, cleaned his shelves and picture frames with pride. He had been alive and breathing, and Jack hadn’t cared in the slightest.

He laughs bitterly to himself.

There’s a knock on his door and he distantly calls out a “Come in!” to whoever is asking for permission. It’s Gus, who looks similarly frightened out of his wits and completely annoyed.

“There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Pattillo.”

Jack scrunches his eyebrows together but shrugs anyway; he’s had people asking to speak with him all day, but he could have _sworn_ Dustin was the last one he was supposed to speak to today. Guess not.

“Send him in, then.”

Gus nods and walks back out into the hallway again, closing the door behind him; Jack can hear his footsteps fading away as he walks down to the elevator to (presumably) go downstairs and pick up whoever it is that has come to visit him. Jack sighs and goes over to the fish tank, picking up the bottle of fish feed and gently opening up the top of the aquarium and tossing some food in for them. With a bored sort of interest, Jack watches them all swim frantically around, mouths opening and shutting quickly to grab more food than their neighbor. It’s a bit calming, really. Gives him something to focus on so he doesn’t remember the photographs Gus had shown him of his father’s corpse, or the plans being put in place to counter-attack Blue.

He hears his door open again, this time with no knock or even a “may I come in?”

Jack turns around to see Mayor Burns and his body turns to stone when their gazes meet.

Jack is the first one to speak.

“If you’re going to arrest me, can I just say I was brought here against my will?”

And for some reason, the mayor begins laughing and laughing, a loud guffaw that echoes throughout the room and sets Jack’s nerves on edge.

“You’re a funny one, Jack. But, no, I’m not here to arrest you.” Mayor Burns walks over to Jack’s desk and sits in Jack’s chair, as if it were his own. “Please, take a seat.” He motions for Jack to sit in one of the guest chairs and Jack begrudgingly does so.

“If you’re not here to arrest me, then why are you here, Mayor?” Jack may be offended that the mayor has taken his seat, but that doesn’t mean he has to piss off the most powerful man in the city.

He chuckles again, haughty and sickening. “Call me Burnie, please. And I’m here to speak to you about Red. You see, you’re new, and you don’t quite know how things work around here.”

 “I don’t? I was under the assumption I was the boss.”

The mayor’s smile goes away in an instant.

Okay, maybe Jack wants to piss him off a _little_ bit; he smiles inwardly in triumph.

“Well you’re not. I am.”

“What?” Jack says, confused. How the fuck is the mayor of Austin the boss of a _gang_?

“Did you think I would allow Red and Blue to just flourish if I didn’t have some hand in them, Jack?” He laughs again, and his laugh is really starting to get on Jack’s nerves. Burnie isn’t even funny. “I run this entire fucking city, Jack. There isn’t a single thing that goes on without my knowing; why do you think I have such good ratings? I keep the gangs quiet, under control, make sure they follow my rules, and the citizens hardly ever hear about you guys. It’s a win-win situation, really. I get you guys to do what I need you guys to do, and you guys don’t ever get arrested.” He pauses. “Your father agreed with me.”

Jack is still as he absorbs this information.

“So I’m just a figurehead. You tell me what to do, and I make it seem like it was my idea.”

“Yep! Well, I’ll tell Ryan what to do, and he’ll tell you, and you tell everyone else. But you seem to understand the gist of the situation, which is great!”

They both sit in silence for a full minute as Jack thinks everything over.

When Gus had first told him he was now in charge of Red, he had been overwhelmed, hadn’t wanted it, wished desperately that his father had allowed Gus himself to take it over. He hadn’t wanted any responsibility, didn’t want to be related to this world, this life, didn’t want any blood on his hands, couldn’t stand the idea of being close to death and decay and loss.

But the idea of Mayor Burns having control over it turns his stomach, and he wants more than anything to have the idea that he’s in charge back. But he doesn’t, and he isn’t, and now he just doesn’t know which way to turn.

“Are you on board with me, Jack? Do we have a deal?” Jack is still quiet. “Or do I need to tell the Chief of Police Hullum what you and your family have been doing for years?”

Jack is still silent.

“Mr. Pattillo? Do we have a deal, or not?!” Burnie’s voice is beyond angry, but he’s not yelling; not yet.

Jack answers.

“Sure. I’ll listen to Ryan, and to you.”

Mayor Burns smiles widely.

“Wonderful, Jack. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure working with you for the next few years.” Burnie stands up from Jack’s chair, and Jack stands up from the guest chair, and Burnie extends his arm out for a handshake with gusto; Jack takes it wearily.

When Burnie goes to walk out the door, he turns around quickly, as if he’d forgotten something.

“Oh, and remind Gus he has that package to pick up in Port Arthur tonight, for me, will you? Thanks, man.”

And with that, Mayor Burns is gone and Jack sinks back into the chair, mentally exhausted.

 _Well_ , Jack thinks, _I’m certainly never voting for_ him _again_.

…

“So what is it we’re playing again, Michael?”

“Uh, well, I know you said Resident Evil, and this isn’t so much Resident Evil as it is…oh, hang on, this part’s fucking sweet.” And Lindsay watches as the terrible graphics portray a bear and his furry friends in the forest play on a banjo and some fucking weird horn thing and a flute, and Michael sings along with the song, even going so far as doing hand motions to mimic him playing the instrument.

Really, this boy cannot get any more ridiculous.

When the song finally ends, Michael says “Yeah, this is Banjo-Kazooie, and it’s the best fucking game ever. Everyone needs to play Banjo-Kazooie. If you have not played Banjo-Kazooie in your sad, miserable, disgusting-shit life, this is awesome. This will fucking make your life, like, fucking, fifty-bajillion times better. Trust me.”

Lindsay stands corrected.

They watch as the witch kidnaps Tooty, and Michael is trying to teach her how to play, but they keep dissolving into hysterics as Lindsay fails to grasp the concept quickly and Michael recounts instances where he had taken twice as long to get the hang of such a simple game.

But Michael keeps getting distracted by his phone, laughing to himself at whatever he’s replying to. Or maybe he’s laughing at what he’s writing; he always was the kind of person to laugh at his own jokes.

Lindsay comments on it when Michael’s ignored her for the seventh time in as many minutes to reply to a text.

“So I think we’re close enough for me to say you seem awful distracted lately.”

Of course, Lindsay hadn’t expected Michael’s face to turn that red so immediately, but hey, at least she knows she hit right on the dot.

“W-what are you talking about?”

Lindsay grins, and Michael knows he’s in for some serious shit.

His phone chimes again, and, well, Lindsay’s always been just that much quicker than Michael. She laughs loudly when she sees who it’s from.

“Really, Michael? It’s _Gavin_?” Oh, this is better than a fucking telenovela, she swears.

Michael tries to snatch the phone from her but she stands up and runs to the bathroom, Michael hot on her tail, but she gets in and locks the door just ahead of him. He begins banging on the door, begging for his phone back as she reads through his and Gavin’s conversation. It seems Michael texted Gavin first, which is interesting.

_So what do you think was in the package?_

_hell if i know. probably something completely ridiculous, like blood diamonds from the heart of africa. you ever see that movie? anyway, doesnt miles have a secret girlfriend? arryn something? im pretty sure hes mentioned her once or twice. oh my god what if he seriously got her a giant thing of diamonds michael oh no_

_Do you really think we picked up a giant package full of fucking diamonds? “Yes, hello, my name is Jaune Arc and I would like to purchase five hundred diamonds, please; just put it on my tab.” How fucking stupid are you?_

_oh come off it michael it could so be a thing! i bet you three hundred squid that’s what it is_

_Squid? Is that a thing we use as currency now?_

_*quid. my blood autocorrect, i hate that thing, i swear, its trying to do me in_

_I repeat: is that a thing we use as currency now?_

_shut up michael you damn well know its the currency for England_

_Funny, I thought you guys used pounds._

_/Anyway/, you wanna go get bevs tonight?_

_Go do what?_

_yknow, bevs. beverages. drinks. do you want to go get smashed or what?_

_Yeah, sure, but I’m gonna have to wait for my roommate to go to bed, she’ll never let it go if she finds out._

_lmao yeah sure whatever. meet you at brewters at ten?_

_Sure, sounds fucking great._

_top :)_

Michael’s still banging on the door, pleading with Lindsay not to read the conversation when Lindsay slowly opens the door, a crazed grin on her face; Michael’s eyes widen and he backs up quickly.

“You got a date!” She says in a sing-song voice and Michael groans.

“It isn’t a date, Lindsay, Jesus skateboarding Christ.”

“But you wanted to keep it a secret from me, which means it’s totally a date! Oh my God, Michael, you are so absolutely adorable!” And she completes her sentence by pinching his cheek directly on his dimple and she squeals.

“Yeah, because you do this kind of shit when you find out I’m going out with someone!”

Lindsay’s eyes widen and Michael realizes his mistake.

“No, Lindsay, I’m not _actually_ going out with Gavin, Lindsay, don’t you dare get any fucking ideas-”

She drags him into his room.

“You have to look nice for your first official gay-date, Michael, come on.”

Michael moans in embarrassment.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” He pauses, and then corrects himself. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Lindsay just smiles widely. “Says the boy who sang along to the Banjo-Kazooie theme song.”

“Shut the fuck up and do your worst, bitch.”

She does just that.

…

Michael tugs self-consciously at his too-tight pants that he doesn’t even remember buying, but he’s put on a bit of weight recently (it’s totally all muscle, fuck you guys) so maybe that’s all it is.

He adjusts himself in his stool at the bar again, and pauses.

 He _really_ hopes that’s all it is. 

“Michael!” He turns around to see a flash of dirty blonde hair and a waving hand, and he waves right back. Gavin’s smile widens once he’s seated next to Michael in his own stool and Michael notices with a rush of color just how handsome Gavin looks tonight; he isn’t dressed in anything special, just clothes that Michael’s already seen him in (were those the pants he wore yesterday?) but there’s just this… _something_ that exudes from Gavin, and Michael is aching to drink it up.

Gavin orders his own drink once he notices Michael’s already begun drinking and they both lapse into easy conversation.

“So your roommate’s a girl, huh?” Gavin waggles his eyebrows and Michael chokes on his beer.

“Fucking hell, Gavin, try to dig your mind out of the gutter will you?” Michael splutters as Gavin laughs loudly. “Her old roommate lied about paying rent, they both got evicted, and her roommate’s folks couldn’t take her in, so she’s bunking with me until she finds somewhere to go.” Gavin nods. “Besides, me and Lindsay have known each other since high school, it’d be like fucking my sister.”

This time it’s Gavin that chokes on his own drink and they both laugh.

When Gavin regains his breath, he asks, “So you mean Lindsay, like, Lindsay Tuggey right?”

Michael nods.

“I like Lindsay. She’s really nice.” Gavin pauses to take a drink of his own beer. “Are you _sure_ you two aren’t shagging?”

Michael chuckles, his face reddening a bit at the fact that Gavin is asking after his sex life. “Yeah, Gavvers, I’m pretty damn sure.”

“I dunno, Mikey, you look pretty blushy there.” Gavin teases, and Michael punches him playfully in his shoulder.

“Yeah, probably because you’re asking who I’m screwing, and that’s just a little fucking weird, dude.”

Gavin just smiles at him.

Something crosses Michael’s mind, and he scowls when he realizes it needs to be asked.

“So how’re Millie and Griffon doing? There’s still been no word, right?” Michael watches in disappointment as Gavin’s smile drops, but it’s not like he expected any different.

“They’re doing…surprisingly well, I guess, considering all that’s happening. Millie’s still in school and got second place in the science fair yesterday, although she was a bit disappointed Geoff wasn’t there to see.” Gavin thinks for a moment. “They would…they would tell me if they had heard from Geoff, right, Michael?”

Gavin looks at Michael, concerned, but Michael just shrugs.

“I don’t know man, it’s hard to tell with Geoff. He might not have told you for like, security reasons, or something, but you’re probably just over-thinking things.”

Gavin just blinks, still thinking, but then he shrugs again.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

They sit in silence for a few moments more until Michael decides to break it.

“So you said you were into, what was it, filmography?” And Gavin laughs aloud at that, and Michael is just confused again.

“I--it’s ‘high-speed cinematography,’ Michael, filmography is barely even related to that. Oh, blimey.” Gavin’s still tittering over Michael’s blunder, so he tries to fix it.

“Well, what-the-fuck-ever, Gavin, what is it?” Hey, he never said he was any _good_ at fixing things.

“It’s like…slow-motion camera-work. I film things that happen really quickly and slow it down a lot.” Gavin’s eyes kind of zone out a bit, and Michael wonders what he’s thinking about. “It’s how I met Joel, actually, out in Hollywood. Somebody had bumped into me while I was carrying one of the set’s camera’s- which, by the way, are ridiculously expensive- and I ended up dropping it and a few pieces broke off and a few more got dented. Anyway, I couldn’t afford to get it fixed, and I couldn’t afford to have anything taken out of my pay, so since I knew Joel had a decent amount of money I asked him if I could borrow some to get the camera fixed and if I could pay him back in favors. Joel agreed, nice as anything, and said he’d only make me do one favor for him.”

Michael notices Gavin’s eyes get dark, and he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“I made a delivery for him, Joel gave me a gun in case I got hurt, and I ended up having to kill somebody to protect myself. And then I just kind of…never left.” Gavin’s voice is small, and Michael has to strain to hear him. “I tried moving down here to get some peace of mind, but Joel followed to protect me and…I don’t know. I met Geoff, I met Griffon and Millie, I met _you_ , and I just can’t…leave.”

They’re quiet again, staring at their respective drinks, until Michael makes a decision.

“I moved down here because some guy e-mailed me about joining a gaming company. I’d be putting some videos up on Youtube of me playing some games, and like, me just screaming at them is apparently funny so I guess I was a bit popular. So this guy e-mailed me and asked me to join on and just do for a living what I was doing for fun, and I just joined without even thinking. Packed up all my shit, took out all my money out of the bank and transferred it to one down here, got an apartment, and when I showed up to the address it was a building set up for demolition. I felt so fucking disappointed and lost, and I was out of a job, and I just had no idea what to do.”

Gavin’s eyes are wide with pity.

“Michael…”

“I was walking around one night, I’d been hired by an electrician company for about two years, but the boss was an idiot and the company ended up going bankrupt, so I’d been jobless for about three weeks. After going around and filling out applications to anywhere I could find, hiring or not, I was trying to take a shortcut and I saw this group of guys giving another guy a hard time, and I tried to just walk past ‘em because I was just exhausted. But then one of ‘em pulled out a huge-ass knife and just started…” Michael takes a deep breath. Gavin pats his knee and asks the bartender for a refill on Michael’s drink, and once the bartender looks at Michael he says it’s on the house. Michael smiles weakly. “Anyway, I tried to help the guy, but they just ended up turning on me and completely ignoring the other guy, who took off without even trying to help me. Kerry found me a few hours later, bloody and half-conscious, and offered to help me. And just like you, I never left.”

Gavin’s hand is still on Michael’s knee, and Michael goes to push it off but instead finds himself grasping it tightly; Gavin smiles softly at him, trying to reassure him.

It works.

As they just fucking _stare_ at each other, perfectly content, Michael’s reminded of last night. Of how steady Gavin was, and how much trust Michael had placed in him, and it only just now crosses Michael’s mind that if Joel hadn’t had interrupted them, Michael might just have kissed him right then and there.

He’s certainly tempted to do so now.

When Gavin’s thumb strokes their intertwined fingers, Michael’s gaze jumps down to his lips for a moment, and he can see Gavin swallow. The air is too thick and Michael’s gaze becomes lidded and _fuck_ , it’s hot in here. He watches Gavin’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, and, yeah, Lindsay shouldn’t have given him the small pants.

Gavin’s the first one to speak.

“D’you wanna-”

“Yeah.”

And they both slam some money down on the bar, not caring in the slightest about change, and leave.

Neither of them know where they’re going to go when they try and hail a cab with their hands still tied together (Lindsay’s still at the apartment, and Millie’s probably dead asleep) but Michael hears Gavin give the cabbie the name of his apartment complex anyway. The cabbie sighs deeply when he realizes what’s going on, and Michael feels kinda bad for the dude who probably puts up with this kind of shit all the time, but fuck him, man, he’s horny and there’s a hot Brit leaning toward him with blown pupils and golden skin.

And their lips are touching, fast and hot, and Michael’s shoved up against the door while Gavin crowds in around him and Michael doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on in his life. He barely has time to wonder at the fact that he’d only ever met the man a few weeks prior to this, and then six days ago he’d actually spoken with him, and now look at them. But then Gavin’s tongue licks along Michael’s lips and he has to strain to not let out a moan, and he’s ninety percent sure the cabbie has pulled the separating window up at this point.

Michael’s free hand (the other still trapped in Gavin’s grasp and not leaving anytime soon) wraps itself around the back of Gavin’s neck, while Gavin’s free hand winds into Michael’s hair, giving a gentle tug and _God_ , it feels amazing.  Neither of them are buckled in, which probably isn’t a great idea in terms of safety, but they don’t pay it any mind as they continuously try to get closer to each other. Their tongues meet each other again and again, curling and trying to dominate, and when they pause for breath Michael sighs out Gavin’s name and the younger man practically _growls_ before diving back in.

They repeat the cycle, over and over, until eventually the cab stops and they have to, as well. Michael resists whining in disappointment.

Gavin rolls the separating window down. “I’m gonna walk him up to his apartment, do you think you could stay here and then take me to my place?”

The cabbie grunts, and Michael wants to laugh. Gavin didn’t even need to ask; if the cabbie gets paid, Michael really doubts it matters to him what his customers do.

Michael opens up his door and they tumble out, hand-in-hand, and walk inside and once they enter the elevator Michael is picked up and pushed up against the wall; Michael’s never been happier that he lives on one of the top floors. And when they walk down the hallway, Michael walking backwards as Gavin gives him pecks on the mouth, again and again, he’s never been happier that his neighbors are total 9-to-5ers and all go to bed at, like, fucking nine at night. Seriously, who fucking does that?

They’re slowing down, though, little kisses here and there and it’s a lot different from the heated ones from earlier, but Michael loves them just as much.

But then Michael’s being pressed to his apartment’s door, Gavin’s hands sliding down to his waist and holding him there as Michael’s hands grip Gavin’s shoulders. Eventually, though, he goes to dig his keys out of his pockets, Gavin’s mouth having moved to press kisses to his neck; his beard tickles Michael’s neck, and he chuckles a bit.

“Gavin, come on, I have to go inside.”

“Uh-uh. No can do, Michael.” And he presses another smooch to his nose and they both stop to smile.

“Uh-huh, Gav. Lindsay’s probably standing outside the door right now and listening to us, okay?”

“Do you not want her to know about us?” Gavin’s voice is hesitant, and Michael’s hand flashes up to cup his face and he presses a kiss to Gavin’s mouth.

Michael shivers when he remembers how Gavin’s mouth formed around the word ‘us.’

“No, no, it’s not that, Gav, I just…you should have seen her when she _thought_ we were going on a date tonight, I mean. Can you imagine if she knew? She’d never let either of us get a moment alone.” Michael thinks it over. “Or she’d probably make sure we were alone together all the time. I’m not sure which.”

Gavin chuckles, and they kiss again; it lingers, and then Michael’s shoving Gavin away gently.

“You’re going to have an absolute fortune to pay that cabbie if you don’t get down there soon, man.” Michael unlocks to door and goes to open it when Gavin sneaks in one more quick kiss to the cheek and Michael’s shaking his head.

“Goodnight, Michael. You’re my boy.” And then Gavin fucking _winks_ at him, and Michael’s lost it, doubling over in laughter as he opens his door.

“Yeah, Gavin, you’re my boy too. Night, you fucker.”

And if anyone asks him, he would absolutely deny the fact that his eyes had the most tender, love-struck look in them.

 

**Part VI**

Ray really should have suspected this would happen to him. Gus charging into _anyone’s_ office at the ass-crack of dawn is always a bad sign, but Ray hadn’t really been paying attention and now he’s stuck with the grunt work. Dammit, isn’t he supposed to be fucking _Jack’s_ intern? Why is he doing shit for Gus?

Ray opens the door to the Pink Ladies’ office and the four people in there all look up at him curiously; he sighs internally when he realizes what he’s going to have to do.

“Apparently Blue bought out that gold from us. Some guy named Jaune Arc sent his goonies down to pick it up two nights ago. Apparently this Arc guy called our guy in Port Arthur and said Gus couldn’t make it, and that he’d come pick it up a day early, but then something came up for Arc, I guess, and he sent two guys to get the package, so now Sorola and Haywood are screaming for blood, as expected.” Ray takes a breath. “Our guy remembers what they look like well enough, so he told Gus, and Gus looked them up and here are their files. Michael Jones and Gavin Free.”

The group before him doesn’t even take time to absorb this new information, JJ just grabbing the files and the rest of them just going straight to figuring out how to infiltrate Blue’s defenses (which, by the way, are nowhere near as sophisticated as Red’s, Ray is proud to say).

Barbara is the first to address him.

“Ray, I know you’re still only interning here, but we’re a bit short-staffed right now- I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen the time- so me and you are gonna have to break into the Warehouse and try and locate the package without getting caught. Think you can handle that?”

Ray’s eyes go wide. “Uh…what?”

Ali’s voice comes out to reassure him. “It shouldn’t be difficult, Ray, their defenses are positively piss-poor and I’ve watched them long enough to know they only give the newbies graveyard shift.  Barbara can handle everybody you guys come across, you’re just there to grab the package and carry it.”

JJ and Austin stay silent because they can tell Ray is going to speak again.

“Why can’t you just take Jordan with you?”

Barbara is quick with a reply.

“Because he and Dustin need to stay here for something Haywood needs done, I don’t know, you know nobody says no to Haywood.”

Ray just sighs and resigns himself to his fate. _Mama, Papa, it was great knowing you._

“Fine. What’re we gonna do?”

…

Michael really needs to stop waking up at stupid fucking hours of the day. He groans and rolls over, mind foggy as he tries to get a grasp on his surroundings, his legs tangled in the sheets. He shifts once more and- oh, no. Oh, _hell-fucking-no_.

He lifts up his sheets, and he swears he hears Satan himself go “Oh, hell-fucking-yes.”

His mind scrambles for a way to take care of this; Lindsay’s probably awake in the living room and he can’t just lock his bedroom door without her getting suspicious (especially because Michael’s loud as shit, he’s not gonna deny it). So what the fuck is he going to do?

When he thinks of the shower, he almost praises Jesus himself, but stops just in time. He jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom, and turns on the shower immediately, not responding to Lindsay when she asks if he’s okay. If she asks him later, he’ll just say he was tired and the shower was too loud. Yeah, that’s totally fucking believable.

His hard-on is practically painful by the time he hops in the shower and touches it for the first time, and he hisses when he remembers how much he wanted Gavin last night; he remembers Gavin shoving him against the wall of the elevator and rutting against him, their cocks aligned through their pants. Michael strokes his own penis in time to the memory of Gavin’s thrusts. Gavin’s eyes run through his mind and his breath quickens when he hears Gavin’s groan.

Michael leans against the wall of the shower, allowing the water to fall across his chest and front of his legs, goose bumps racing across his skin where it touches the cold wall. His pace continues with memories of kisses dancing along his neck and the motion of the cab reverberating through his bones and then Gavin’s whisper of his name goes through to his heart and he’s tipping right over the edge and can barely keep his groan of pleasure in his throat.

As his cum washes down the drain, Michael tentatively gives himself a wash, keeping careful to not give himself another hard-on as every thought and memory of Gavin continues to plague his thoughts. When he shuts the shower off and goes to step out, he just knows Lindsay’s about to-

“Yo, if you’re done jacking off to Gavin, can I take a shower now?”

And Michael ends up slipping right out of the shower and landing on the tub’s edge and _straight on his motherfucking dick, oh my God_. Michael’s howl of pain sets Lindsay off laughing and Michael’s cursing her and everyone he knows to Hell and back when her phone goes off and she answers it with a chuckle.

“Hey, Monty…” and her voice slightly fades away as Michael wraps a towel around himself and sets to brushing his teeth (it’s a bit hard when all he wants to do is grit his teeth in pain, but it’s got to be done sometime). It isn’t until he hears his name that he bothers listening in on Lindsay’s conversation.

“Yeah, Monty, I’m looking after Michael like you told me to. He doesn’t suspect anything.” There’s a pause. “No, he’s in the shower, why?” And then she says loudly, “Michael, Monty’s on the phone for you!”

Michael scrambles to clean out his mouth and readjusts his towel before going to Lindsay and taking the phone from her.

“What’s up, Mr. Oum?”

“We had a break-in last night, and they almost got away with that package you guys got from Port Arthur for Miles the other night. Luckily Caleb freaks out easily and knocked them both out with a book, believe it or not. And when we tied them up, they said they wouldn’t speak to anybody but you and Gavin, and haven’t spoken a word since, so that means you two are coming down to the Warehouse. Gavin should get to your apartment in a few minutes, so be ready. These two guys are your problem, got it?” Monty sounds annoyed and on-edge and Michael wonders just how long these two guys have been there for, if Monty’s this irritated already.

Michael notices out of the corner of his eye that Lindsay has gone to open the door and it isn’t until Gavin walks in, all smiles and pure sex, that Michael remembers he’s only wearing a towel. Gavin’s greeting drips off his lips quickly, and they just stare at each other, Gavin’s eyes running across Michael’s body and Michael’s eyes doing the same.

“Michael?” He jumps at the voice in his ear, having forgotten he had the phone, still.

“Yes, sir, not a problem. I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright, bye.”

And Michael hangs up quickly, face flushed.

Lindsay rolls her eyes.

“While the sexual tension in here is fine and dandy for the both of you, can I please have my phone back?” Michael nods and hands it to her, before walking awkwardly back to his room to get into something a hell of a lot more appropriate for interrogating people.

Although, he can practically _feel_ Gavin’s gaze glued to his ass the whole walk down to his bedroom, and he’s sorely tempted to shake it, just the _slightest_ bit, but Lindsay’s there, too, and that’d be just too fucking weird. 

He locks the door to his bedroom (because as much as he would _love_ Gavin sneaking into his bedroom right now, they’ve got shit that needs to get done) and gets dressed quickly, tossing on some jeans (that _aren’t_ tight as hell) and a shirt straight  from the basket.  He grabs his pistol from under the bed, and walks straight down the hallway and out the door with a quick farewell to Lindsay. Gavin shoots up from where he had been sitting awkwardly on the couch and follows.

The second the door shuts behind Gavin, he grabs Michael and shoves him against the far wall, pressing their bodies close together as their mouths connect and their arms wrapping around each other.

 “I missed you last night, Michael.” Gavin’s voice is hushed. “I was so bloody hard after your left last night, Michael, I had to finish all by myself.” Michael quietly moans at the images that enter his mind at that. “And then I saw you like that, you were wearing almost _nothing_ ,” Gavin kisses his neck slowly, “and I could so easily imagine you laid out before me, and that I could do anything I wanted to you.” Gavin’s hands slide down Michael’s body and they cup Michael’s ass before gripping them and hoisting Michael off his toes slightly; Michael’s breath stops short at the sensation. “Your ass is probably the biggest temptation, though.”

Michael yanks Gavin’s mouth back to his at those words and Gavin swallows Michael’s moans.

They hear a door being opened at the far end of the hall, and they jerk apart, breaths heavy. They both clear their throats awkwardly, and then begin to walk down to the car; when they’re in the elevator Gavin grabs Michael’s hands, and they smile at each other.

Michael’s not sure what this is, what they have. He doesn’t know if it’s purely sexual, or if there’s something deeper, but he does know that he doesn’t want to let it go anytime soon.

And if the grip on his hand is anything to go by, Gavin doesn’t want to, either.

…

When they finally reach the Warehouse, parking around back like usual, they walk in and immediately spot Kerry pacing back and forth. When he spots them he walks towards them quickly.

“Where have you guys been? I’ve been waiting, like, forever for you guys to get here.” Kerry demands, and they both have to hide grins and blushes.

Michael shrugs for them. “Traffic was a bitch, Kerry; you know what the interstate’s like.”

Kerry just sighs, mutters an “I guess,” and then motions for them to follow him to the holding room.

Inside the room are five people, Caleb and Chris standing guard, a man and a woman tied up in the center of the room to chairs, and Kara fixing a wound on the man; it appears he was cut pretty badly on his arm somehow, and Kara is replacing dirty bandages.

The two hostages’ gazes lock onto Michael and Gavin, and the woman is the first to speak.

“We want to speak with you alone.”

Michael inwardly dubs her as Bitchy One.

“You’re the hostages, I don’t think you exactly get a choice in the matter.” Gavin’s voice is the same as it was on the pier, and, well, nobody ever really said Michael’s boner went _away_ , exactly.  

But Michael speaks up in the hostages’ favor.

“Come on, Gavin, let’s hear what they have to say. Kerry, Caleb, Chris, stand outside the door; Kara, you can stay until you’re done working on his arm, sound good?”

Everyone looks at him in shock for a few moments (Gavin included) until they slowly begin to do as he asked them to. Chris even gives him a pat on the shoulder for some weird fucking reason, but whatever.

Michael pulls a chair from the side of the room over to where the hostages are and sits down in front of them, at their level.

“So what is it that you need to speak with us about?”

Bitchy One looks to the man sitting next to her, and he shrugs as if to say “I got nothing” so Bitchy One turns back to Michael.

“You guys- whether you knew it or not, I get that orders are orders- stole something from us. You picked up a package in Port Arthur that is ours and our boss would very much like to have it back, please.”

Gavin sits down in his own chair next to Michael as he speaks.

“So? Why should we give it to you?”

This time the man speaks.

“Because you are kind people and love to help a brotha’ out?”

Michael chuckles. He calls the man Funny One. Bitchy One even lets out a bit of a laugh before scolding him with a “Shut the hell up, Ray.”

Gavin tilts his head.

“Ray? Like, Ray Narvaez?” Something flashes across Gavin’s eyes. “You guys are from Red!” Gavin looks to Michael, and they both jump to the same conclusion, but don’t say anything about it. Not yet. Not while they have something Red needs.

Bitchy One scoffs. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Nothing, just….hold on.” Gavin gets up and walks out, and Kara throws away the dirty bandages and goes to follow him. It’s just Michael, Bitchy One, and Ray, now.

Ray looks at Michael. “Seriously, though, these bindings are tight as my asshole, mind undoing them a bit?”

Michael just laughs, once. “Yeah, no. Maybe later.”

“Seriously, Ray? That’s the wording you use? ‘Tight as my asshole’?” Bitchy One gripes, and Ray laughs.

“Come on, Barbara, you’re the one that practically speaks in puns, don’t you be knocking my words.”

Michael notices with interest how at ease these two are in captivity. The door behind him opens, and Gavin’s calling Michael out to the hallway, so Caleb and Chris go into the room to keep an eye on Ray and Barbara again.

Monty’s out in the hallway, and Michael can already guess where this conversation’s going to end up.

“Monty, these guys are from Red, they might know where Geoff is, and you know they’re only going to tell us where he is if we give them the package.”

Even before Gavin’s finished his sentence, Monty’s shaking his head no.

“Gavin, you very well know we can’t just give away that much money for one man. I’ve been looking for him high and low, so there’s no need for that anyway.”

Gavin shakes his head. “It’s been almost a week, Monty, and you haven’t heard a word for him; these people might know something!”

“I don’t care, Gavin, we aren’t risking anything on a guess. That’s it. Don’t poke around where you’re not supposed to. Kerry,” The man in question snaps to attention, having zoned out, “Take the prisoners downstairs for me, would you? Michael and Gavin, you’re free to go.” And Monty turns around and walks away, leaving Gavin practically seething and Michael worried for Gavin’s sanity.

When Kerry enters the room and shuts the door behind him, Gavin turns to Michael.

“You know what we’re doing tonight, don’t you?”

Michael smiles.

“Yeah, I do.”

…

Michael really should not be this afraid of the Warehouse at night, he’s certainly been here often enough to not be.

But now, walking through the hallways and prepared to ask anyone they come across if they’ve seen Michael’s cell-phone (because, really, covers don’t always have to be very complicated), he’s thoroughly freaked out. Gavin’s hand on his shoulder is steady, though, so his heart stays the same.

They finally get to the second holding room, which is pretty much a giant cellar, and when Caleb and Chris spot them they tell them to be quiet.

“What are you guys doing here?” Caleb whispers once they agree to be quiet.

“We need to figure out where Geoff is, so we’re taking them with us.” Gavin says, very matter-of-factly, and Chris blanches.

“But then me and Caleb are gonna get in so much trouble, Gavin!”

Gavin smiles. “Yeah, I know, which is why we’re gonna lock you in a closet and you’ll just tell everyone we knocked you out and you woke up in there. You won’t get that much backlash that way.”

Caleb and Chris just look at each other worriedly.

“Well…okay…” Caleb accedes, and Gavin cheers under his breath.

“Thanks, mate! We brought some food and water for you guys, and there’s a light in there, and I know you have your DS Chris, so you guys’ll be fine until someone notices.”

Chris sighs, and goes to wake up Ray and Barbara. Michael follows him.

When they’re both awoken, Michael quickly brings them up to speed, and Ray is quick to agree; Barbara, however, inquires about the package. Michael scowls.

“We’ll find a way to get it back to you when you get us some answers, how’s that sound?”

Barbara realizes it’s her only chance at getting the package without getting Ray into trouble, so she agrees, although she does it with a bit of salt. They all go to the door, and Michael takes a look out into the hallway before motioning for them to follow; Gavin goes in the opposite direction with Caleb and Chris, towards the closet, and Michael’s heart begins racing with Gavin’s absence.

They (surprisingly) get out to the car with no problem, and Michael wonders what that says about their security system. Probably not a whole lot of good.

Gavin comes out a few minutes later, and then Ray and Barbara are giving directions to the Base on the other side of downtown. What is _up_ with gang’s being in the middle of the fucking city? Seriously?

The ride is filled with awkward silences in between directions from the backseat, because Michael’s nerves were so on edge that the moment Gavin had gotten in the car, Michael had grabbed his hand. He hasn’t let it go, yet, and Gavin hasn’t tried to make him. It’s nice, really, the feeling of Gavin’s palm in his, and there goes Gavin’s thumb again, stroking across their fingers.

But Michael is pulled out of his thoughts when he pulls into the fucking parking garage and he sees the giant building that is Red’s Base. It’s at least ten stories, which is crazy, and the walls are glass like almost all the office buildings around here, and there’s a lobby with three receptionists in it, still taking calls and forwarding messages.  They go up an elevator, and holy shit, Red is less “grungy-gang” than so much as “well-organized, highly-sophisticated mob.”

It’s kind of blowing Michael and Gavin’s minds away.

Ray and Barbara lead the way, and Michael notices there’s a hell of a lot more people working here at this time of night than there is even on Blue’s whole team. No wonder Blue was trying to steal merch from these guys; they probably get everything Grade A.

They walk down hallway after hallway, entering multiple rooms and either Ray or Barbara ask after Geoff Ramsey; sometimes they get answers, and they’ll go to whichever room they’re directed to, and other times they’ll just get a “sorry, haven’t seen him.” Which just makes Michael wonder just why Geoff is even allowed to be wandering around Red Base.

Just as Michael is about to ask just how much longer they’re going to be walking, Gavin gasps loudly and begins running down the hallway with laughter on his lips. He crashes into an older man, and Michael runs down to catch up with them, and sees with surprise that it’s Geoff. Michael smiles brightly, and runs faster and joins in on the hug, Gavin near tears with happiness, and Geoff thanking every deity on Earth that Gavin and Michael are okay.

They finally all pull apart, and Geoff laughs loudly; Michael swears it’s as fatherly as fucking Santa Clause. “So that, children, is the true meaning of Christmas.” Geoff jokes and they all laugh. “But seriously,what the fuck are you guys doing here, do you even know how much trouble you’ll get in? I mean, how did you even…” Geoff spots Ray and Barbara down at the far-end of the corridor and gives a little “oh” of understanding.

“We really don’t give a toss about rules right now, Geoff, we really just needed to make sure you were okay.” Gavin’s voice is thick and it makes Michael’s heart ache, but he knows it’s with happiness.

Geoff’s eyebrows raise, and he turns to face Michael. “What, were you concerned too?”

“Geoff, come on, man. You really think I’m gonna let this asshole just go on a secret mission without me?”

The atmosphere is so light it’s making Michael’s chest sing, and everyone laughs once more. Geoff just looks between them, and sighs.

 “Come on in here, though. You guys have a fuck-ton to get caught up on.”

 

**Part VII**

 

Michael and Gavin (tailed by Ray and Barbara) follow Geoff into a meeting-room, a smart-board in the farthest wall and a few members of Red sitting around the table. Ray and Barbara plop down in the chairs, and Geoff goes up to the smart-board, picking up one of the pens and beginning to draw.

“Okay, so this explanation’s gonna be rough as dicks, so if you don’t follow something, too fucking bad, we don’t have a hell of a lot of time on our hands. Okay so basically,” He draws a square in Blue on the left end of the board and square in Red on the right end of the board, with a green square at the bottom. “Blue is the Warehouse, Red is the Base, and Green is Port Arthur. Black,” He picks up the black pen, “is the package. We good so far?”

Everyone nods.

“Great. So here,” he draws a black circle with a number one over it in the middle of the board, “is where Plan G happened, for all intents and purposes. It’s where me and Gavin first saw the package, and I took it.” Geoff then draws an arrow in black to Base, and draws a black circle with a number two over it. “I then kept it here, and Burnie had me preparing to do work for him with Beacon out in Nevada, as a favor to a woman named Kathleen Zeulch. Burnie didn’t want me telling anybody the package was here, so he had Ryan Haywood keep an eye on me. Then,” He draws a black arrow down to Port Arthur, and a third circle with its respective number on top, “He had me drive down to Port Arthur and had me drop it off there, telling the guys down in Port Arthur I was with Beacon. Then,” He draws another arrow to the Warehouse, and fourth circle, numbering it, “You and Michael picked it up, took it back to the Warehouse, where it sits now.”

Michael and Gavin just stare at the map in front of them.

“I’m so fucking confused right now, but let me try: so basically, Burnie’s been fucking with us the whole time?” It’s Ray that pipes up from the back, and Barbara punches him in the arm before realizing that, holy shit, he’s kind of right. Goddamnit, Burnie.

Geoff laughs, somewhat sarcastically. “Yeah, he’s been fucking with us every since he got first elected five fucking years ago.” He picks up the eraser and erases his map. “Now, basically, we have to figure out how to get him exposed to media without getting any of us fucking shot in the nuts. And we have to do it tonight, because tomorrow starts the launch of his campaign, and he was going to launch it with the announcement that Blue had officially been disbanded, due to a turf war and the leader being arrested. And we all know the reason he doesn’t have that now is because those two got caught.” He points to Barbara and Ray at the far end of the table; they both blush heavily, and begin to defend themselves hurriedly. Geoff raises his hand.

“Hey, nobody’s blaming you guys for anything. We get it; orders are orders. We do what we’re told. I’m just the only one that’s sick of listening to assholes, is all.”

Yeah, Michael’s really happy Geoff’s back. Especially if it puts that smile on Gavin’s face.

“Is there anything even in that fucking package, Geoff?”

Geoff laughs.

“Nope, absolutely nothing. Just a giant box of packing peanuts. But hey, had you all fooled, didn’t it?”

Gavin and Michael both groan in annoyance, but then the room turns serious once more.

“Who gave you permission to do all this shit, anyway?” A man with perfectly gelled hair and a beard asks scathingly  from the back of the room, and Michael notices Gavin’s fist clench.

Michael also notices how… _sardonic_ Geoff’s smile is. “Jack Pattillo.”

Neither Michael nor Gavin know who he is, but they both recognize the ‘Pattillo’ part of his name and can infer who he’s supposed to be. And what he’s in charge of.

The man scoffs. “Right, Jack Pattillo gave you permission to take Mayor Burns out. Right. Because he isn’t a total puppet, you know.”

“Yeah, well, Jordan, maybe if you’d stop doubting everything I say, you’d realize people don’t like being puppets. And from how much you’re protesting me right now, I’d say you don’t like it either, so you can shut up and go along with us, or shut up and leave. Your choice, really.”

Jordan chooses the former.

A girl with pink hair chimes in from Michael’s right.

“Anyway, how are we supposed to bust Burnie? Should we plant something in his house and then anonymously call the cops, or change his internet search history, or what?”

“Well, Ali, it’s really up to a vote. Personally, I’d like to just straight up kill the ass, but I’ve been told I’m too violent, so. We can figure out what we want to do, and then you and the rest of the Pink Ladies can figure out our technical shit, eh?”

A man with dark hair and a beanie chimes in. “I’m down for planting something in his house. We got a shit-load of cocaine in one of the storage rooms.”

“Dustin, we’re keeping that for Chief Hullum, once Hullum sees it, he’ll know we planted it.” Says a man with pink hair who, Michael guesses, is one of the named ‘Pink Ladies’ with that Ali chick.

Gavin speaks up. “Well, even if we don’t use coke, that’s still a good start. What about that weed we picked up from Blood Gulch a few months ago? We haven’t sold it all, have we, Geoff?” Geoff shakes his head no. “And it makes sense; the media’ll probably try to pass it off as him trying to ease the stress of mayorial duties, but the public’ll dislike it enough for him to not get voted again, and nobody’ll be able to tie it to us.”

The rest of the group is nodding along to what Gavin’s saying, but Barbara isn’t quite as convinced.

“Well, that all sounds fine and dandy, but who the fuck’s gonna plant it before tomorrow? _You_?”

“Well, yeah, I was thinking me and Michael and Geoff would do it. Have you guys run recon and watch the cameras for us, since you guys are pretty tech-savvy.”

Michael’s jaw just drops when Geoff is quick to agree, and everyone seems to be fine with it, including a begrudging Barbara.

Michael grabs Gavin’s shoulder to gain his attention as the rest of the group dissolves into conversation to figure out the specifics of the plan, and Michael hisses “Why the fuck do you think this is something I can do?”

Gavin just grins softly. “We started this, didn’t we? When we did Plan G? I just felt like it should be us that end it.”

Michael glares. “This is no time for your dramatics, Gavin, you know I’m absolutely useless in situations like this. I’m going to fucking get another panic attack and you very well know it and then I will just get us fucking killed, Gavin. Don’t fuck around with this, you know that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Oh, come on, Michael, I’ll be there. You’ll protect me, I’ll protect you, Geoff will make sure you don’t murder me when I do something stupid, it’ll be tippers.”

Michael sighs. And sighs again.

“You better know what you’re doing, asshole.”

...

“You didn’t listen to a single word they told you, did you, Gavin.”

“Uh…no?”

“Fucking amazing.”

“Oh come on, Michael, it isn’t that bad! I know the gist of the plan, and you know I work better on my own terms, so it’s really just for the best.”

“Uh-huh.”

Michael sighs deeply as he turns down his com and rolls his eyes to Geoff. The two of them are sitting in Michael’s car as Gavin walks around upstairs, trying to find a place Burnie would hide marijuana in. Burnie hadn’t been in tonight (probably going around and pretending to care about the elderly or some stupid bullshit) so their being outside is really just a precaution should Burnie come home, so they can alert Gavin as quickly as possible.

Geoff tells Gavin they’re both going radio silent for a bit, and mutes his own mike; Michael follows his lead, curious as to why they’re doing this.

“What’s up, Geoff?” Michael’s eyebrows scrunch together in his curiosity, and Geoff just gives him this _look_.

“So you’re fucking Gavin, I’m guessing?” He says, blunt as anything, and Michael’s face (and practically his whole body) immediately lights up in his embarrassment as he attempts to reply in something vaguely intelligible.

When Michael finally regains his motor abilities, he says “We haven’t fucked, no.”

Geoff’s face scrunches. “You haven’t? What the fuck are you waiting for? A written invitation?” And it just sets Michael off again, trying to figure out how to reply. He’s reminded vaguely of when he was in high school and wanted to take his girlfriend to prom and had to ask her father’s permission.

“I…don’t quite know how to respond to that, Geoff. Can we maybe, like, talk about this later? When our lives aren’t in danger?” Bees are starting to crawl up and down Michael’s skin again; the longer Gavin is away from him the more he wishes Gavin would just hurry the fuck up. Michael turns his com back on to ask Gavin when he’s gonna finish up when he notices the car in front of the house.

“Gavin, someone’s home, get the fuck out right fucking now.” Michael’s voice is tight as he hears Geoff comming back to Base what’s going on as the Pink Ladies watch the hacked cameras. Ray and Barbara are supposed to be making sure Ryan doesn’t find out about any of this, and Michael really hopes they’ve done their job.

“Right, gotcha, I just placed it anyways, so I’ll be making my way downstairs then?”

Michael watches as the front door opens, and he tells Gavin to find another way downstairs.

“Uh, okay, there’s like five hundred staircases, so I’ll just take another one.” And Geoff is still speaking to the Pink Ladies on the other channel and Michael really wishes he knew what they were saying, but he can’t just switch channels while Gavin’s in danger.

Michael can’t handle this, but he has to be able to. _Fuck_.

Michael can hear Gavin’s breaths through the ear bud, and it calms him slightly, but it isn’t enough anymore to hear Gavin’s voice and his breath; he needs to be able to see him and touch him and make sure with his own hands that Gavin’s alright and that Gavin’s safe, and he can’t do that from here, and it’s killing him inside.

Geoff’s voice chimes in. “They’re all still in the foyer, apparently, so just make sure Gavin stays upstairs for right now.”

Michael nods as he relays this information to the Brit. “Hey, Gav, don’t go downstairs just yet, there’s Burnie and about four body guards still in the foyer, and I’m sure all your staircases head in that direction, so just stay upstairs for right now, okay?”

“Sounds good, Michael.”

Michael ignores how tight Gavin’s voice is, and instead tries to focus on getting Gavin a way out.

“Geoff, any staircases that just so happen to go out the servant entrance?” Geoff directs the question to the Pink Ladies and they (Michael guesses) begin looking through the cameras to see one; Geoff tells Michael they couldn’t find anything, and Michael grunts in frustration.

“Just sit tight, Gavin, try and find a window or something and-”

Geoff cuts him off. “They’re all going up different staircases; tell Gavin he needs to run fucking _now_.”

“Gavin, get out, code fucking red, none of the staircases are safe, fucking move and stay safe, for the love of God, Gavin, stay safe for me, please.” And Michael’s begging right now, and, yeah, he’s near tears, but holy shit, he doesn’t even know what he and Gavin _are_ , and that asshole can’t die without Michael knowing (scratch that, he can’t die at all).

“Michael, there’s someone coming up behind him.”

“Gavin, find somewhere right now, there’s someone behind you.”

The fact that Gavin hasn’t said anything yet is a good thing, Michael hopes.

“Where is he right now, Geoff?”

“Third floor, one of the living rooms.” Is all Geoff says, because tension is thick and words need to be used sparingly. Michael just nods, not caring if Geoff sees or not.

“His area’s clear.”

“Can he go down a staircase?”

“Yeah, first one to his left; tell him to hurry his fucking ass.”

“First staircase to your left, haul ass, Gav.” And Michael can already hear his footsteps through the ear bud and Michael’s practically crying with the thought that this might almost be over.

“Someone’s coming up it, Michael.”

“Fucking- Scratch that, Gav, hide now.”

“I’m already on the-oh. Uh.”

Michael can hear a demand for Gavin to put his hands up through the ear buds and Michael’s veins freeze.

“Geoff, he’s been caught.”

“Yeah, I know, shithead. Fuck. What the fuck’re we- wait, Michael, get back here!”

Michael slams the door shut as he clutches his pistol and books it to the mayor’s house, and he subconsciously registers the fact that Geoff is following him, but all that’s on his mind right now is the fact that Gavin’s in that house and _he needs to make sure Gavin stays safe_.

Michael slams the door open loudly, not giving a single fuck, and going to the staircase and walking up it, pistol pointed at the back of the body guard’s head, whose gun is trained on Gavin’s forehead.

“Put the gun down and nobody gets hurt.” Michael’s voice is thick with nerves and emotion and Gavin just stares at him, eyes wide. The guard just turns around, and Michael notices it’s Joel, the cop he had met a few nights ago.

“Oh, no, Michael; how about you put _your_ gun down, and I don’t shoot your boyfriend here?” Joel’s voice sounds serious, but Michael knows he’s bluffing; his body language is relaxed, and Michael thinks back on Gavin’s story, thinks about how Joel followed him to Austin, how he wanted Gavin to be safe. He wouldn’t hurt him now.

He’s just as caught up in this life as everyone else.

“Look, Joel, I know you don’t want to actually do anything. Now come on, we’re fucking leaving, just let Gavin come with me. Please.”

Joel’s grin is still sarcastic and completely fake and it sets Michael’s teeth on edge.

“No can do. But I’ll do you a favor and it won’t be fatal, alright?” And Joel fucking _winks_ to Michael when he pulls the trigger, and Michael just sees red as he hears Gavin’s howl.

Michael runs up the stairs and around Joel and grabs Gavin, trying to see where he’d been shot at; he sees the blood blooming from Gavin’s right shoulder, and while he’s extremely fucking beyond pissed off right now, he’s also infinitely happy Joel kept his word on it not being fatal.

“Come on, Joel, I thought I told you to kill them both.”

Michael’s eyes shoot up to Mayor Burns above him. The mayor’s smile is wicked.

“Michael, Gavin. Pleasure to meet you both, really. And I would take the time to tell you about how I’m just going to keep being super awesome at what I do, but really, what’s the point? You’re going to die anyway, so: Joel, go ahead.” Burnie nods to the cop and a shot rings through the air and Michael flinches before he realizes he’s not in any pain and, shit, Joel better not have killed Gavin, because- but, no, Michael looks at Gavin and he’s just the same as before the shot.

So what…?

“Alright, fuckers, I’m taking my two twinks with me and you’re gonna fucking turn your tails out of town, fucking clear?”

Oh, right, Geoff followed him in.

Behind him, Burnie clears his throat. “And what makes you think I’m going to listen to you, Geoff?”

Another shot rings out, and Michael sees the bullet go straight through one of the other body guards’ foreheads, and his body slumps forwards and rolls down the staircase a little bit. Michael almost throws up but barely manages to contain it as blood dribbles down the steps.

“That, probably.” Geoff’s voice rings out, clear and confident, and Michael is so glad he’s here right now. He helped matters absolutely none. “Except, y’know. In your own fucking forehead.”

Burnie takes a deep breath. “Yes, well, that does change matters a bit. Joel, drop your gun.” Joel does.

Gavin’s still bleeding in Michael’s grasp, and Michael sends a pleading look at Geoff, who meets his gaze with a nod.

“Michael’s gonna take Gavin to the hospital. If any of your men move, they’re getting a fucking head-shot.”

Michael picks up Gavin, moving around him so he picks him up with the wounded shoulder away from Michael’s chest, and he carries him down the stairs carefully and walks out the door and sets him into the car and buckles him in and drives away.

When they get to the hospital, Michael has to spin a story about how they got mugged downtown, and he wonders if Geoff’s still alive. He doesn’t answer on the com, and Michael never was told the channel for the Pink Ladies, so he can’t tell Gavin anything.

Well, it’s not like he has the capacity to tell Gavin anything, anyways. The moment they had walked in there, Gavin had been taken by an ER attendant and wheeled off to an emergency surgery. Michael knew it had to be done if Gavin would ever regain full use of his arm, but it still hurts to be apart from him.

None of the doctor’s keep him posted, either, because he isn’t family. Which is ridiculous because his only blood family is all the fucking way out in England, and Gavin is well beyond eighteen, he shouldn’t need those rules anymore, but that’s the world, Michael guesses.

It gets your acquaintance’s father-figure off the map, get the mayor to run all the gangs in the city at once, gets your acquaintance-turned-boyfriend shot, and you waiting with no word about any of them for hours on end in a waiting room with parents of children who’d swallowed some knives to a young girl with a single father trying to figure out how a tampon works.

By the time the doctor allows himself to answer your questions, Gavin’s already asleep in his own room, resting from surgery, and you aren’t even allowed in his room and you end up breaking down in the hallway and you try to remember how you handled these things before you met Gavin.

You can’t.

…

The next morning, the story of Mayor Burns’ house getting broken into and his body guards being shot is all over the news, and, it turns out, as police were trying to find evidence to track down the intruders, the police ended up finding five packs of high-grade marijuana instead.

Michael almost laughs at the irony of it. Almost.

…

Two days later, and Gavin wakes up for the first time. He’s slightly delirious and in pain, so Michael calls for more medicine for him.

Gavin recognizes him for a few moments and gives him a gently smile before slipping under again.

…

Four days later, and Gavin can’t sleep, playing “Go, Fish!” on his bed with Millie while Geoff and Griffon and Michael sit on chairs around the bed and watch as Gavin loses a-fucking-gain.

Michael and Gavin’s eyes meet, and their laughter is just that much sweeter than everyone else’s.

…

Two weeks later and Gavin’s finally free to leave the hospital, granted he takes physical therapy classes twice a week to regain full mobility of his arm. Trying to teach Gavin how to use his left hand for everything is tiring Michael out, and neither of them can wait for that day to come sooner.

When Michael reads the newspaper that day, he sees that everyone associated with Mayor Burns (including the mayor himself) have all disappeared from the city and haven’t been spotted for weeks.

Michael grins to himself.

…

Three months later, and Michael and Gavin are standing outside Gavin’s parents’ house, smiling brightly as they embrace their boy, teary-eyed and thanking Michael again and again for bringing their son home again. He just smiles and says it’s his pleasure, because it really is. He loves making Gavin happy.

 …

“The stars are beautiful out, tonight, Michael, thank you. For bringing me out here, I mean, not the stars. ‘S’not like you can control that.” And Michael laughs because this guy is absolutely insane.

“You’re welcome, Gavin.”

“Hey, so I was reading yesterday and I found out about this old Japanese myth called the ‘red string of fate.’ D’you think that’s what got the both of us in Austin? We had connected strings and they just kept tugging us towards each other?”  Gavin’s thumb smoothes over their fingers, and Michael’s breathing evens.

“Probably.”

“Do you think the string had anything to do with what happened to us?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Gavin shrugs.

“Just a question, Michael.”

They’re silent for a few minutes more, watching the constellations above them.

“Hey, Gavin? Remember when we went down to Port Arthur and on our way back I asked you if you wanted to run away with me?”

“Yeah, why?”

Michael smiles at Gavin and kisses him softly on the mouth before lying down on the grass again.

“I’m glad you finally said yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started out with one idea, and it came out something completely different, wow. 
> 
> All in all, I'm proud I tried something of this magnitude and genre, but as a whole, I don't think I'm cut out for writing something like this. It was an experiment, and while I think I did well with what I knew, I worried the entire time it was shit and I think I'll go back to falling in love with brushed hands and kisses exchanged with the eyes, thanks. 
> 
> Also, I've never been diagnosed with panic/anxiety attacks before, so I don't know for sure if that's what I get sometimes, but hopefully I portrayed them right?


End file.
